Bad for Good
by OneBigCosmicJoke
Summary: The incredibly long though hopefully well-written story of Sherlock Holmes and Adriana Selene Hartford, a young woman he encountered in Serbia during his time while dead. Named after a Scorpion song that I totally recommend. Rated M for excessive swearing, violence, pan-to-fireplace romance, and use of Moriarty.
1. Chapter 1

**Hi :D So, it's been ages since I posted anything, and I know that a lot of people dislike OCs, but this is an exchange that I had with a very awesome person that was based off of one of my role play prompts :) Don't worry, she's not a Mary Sue or anything, and I'm actually sort of proud of her. This is just the first chapter, though there is tons more to be copied and pasted, but I'll just see how it goes! Reviews are appreciated! **

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Adriana had been thrown into the jail cell ages ago. How long had it been? A day? A week? She had lost track of time, between constant interrogations from her Serbian kidnappers, torturing, small amounts of food, endless moving between jail cells. At the moment, she was chained up in a corner, her clothing ragged and torn. The girl had arrived at this place in jeans, combat boots, a dark green turtleneck and a black jacket, all of which was now in shreds, the boots little more than leather anklets and the shirt barely more than a cloth around her midsection. She was trying to think through the pain from the whip wounds that she had gotten at her last interrogation, and the wounds were bleeding through her jacket. She took a few deep breaths and closed her eyes, going into a sort of trance. She entered her mind, the one place that, at the moment, was her own. A few basic questions ran through her mind automatically, reaffirming her in reality. Why was she here? Easy- to take down Moriarty. Why was she looking for Moriarty? Because he killed her father, naturally. Those reminders of herself brought her back to Earth. There was a noise on the outside that sharpened her senses further. The door to her cell was opening. She swallowed, not sure of how much more treatment like this she could take.

The door swung open harshly, and hit the wall with a large thud. Two tall and muscular men were stood at the door; the ones who would usually collect Adriana. But they were stood with someone else. Before she could make sense of this, the unknown figure was thrown to the floor. They stumbled in, falling to their knees with their head bowed and their hands in cuffs; chains around their ankles. The groan that followed as their body collided with the ground was deep, indicating that this person was a man. The door closed behind him just as violently as it opened, and then there was nothing but silence. The arrival of the new person was shocking, as well as frightening. So many nights spent in this cold and dark jail had brought a wave of bitterness and cynicism upon Adriana, and she immediately shied away from this stranger, this man, who had been thrown so unceremoniously into uncomfortably close quarters with her. She tucked her legs up to her chest and looked over her knees with a glare in her eyes, trying to make out something in the form of the person. Tall, slightly bony, hadn't eaten in a while. Long curly hair. She blew a strand of her own, still vibrantly coloured, out of the way of her piercing eyes with a puff of breath from her mouth. Deciding that the best course of action would be to stay silent and wait for the other to make some kind of noise or even acknowledge her presence. There was power in silence, and in her position, she could use all of the power she could get. There was a heavy silence that loomed across the enclosed space in the cell, which soon became rather unbearable. It was dark, and the man couldn't see much; but from the darkness he usually gathered a lot. The small sound of a breath stood out to his ears. Somebody else was in here. Somebody very frightened, and female.

Sherlock shifted uneasily in his position so he could sit in a more comfortable way, with his back against the closest wall and his legs stretched in front of him. The man moved his hands so they were resting on his lap; he felt a short pain from his wrists suggesting that the cuffs had made a wound. He hardly responded to his discovery. He sighed heavily, allowing the sound to bounce from the walls. He remained silent in contemplation. So this girl, whoever she was, was certainly aware of his presence. But she wasn't aware of his knowledge. He waited for some sort of change within the scene, within the air. Anything. Something so he could gather more on her character.

Though it had been Adriana's intention to keep the quiet in the room, draw curtains over her identity and her presence, she soon found herself fidgeting slightly. After all, loneliness and isolation had probably been the worst torture inflicted upon her- she had been certain she was going mad when she began to murmur equations and figures and thoughts aloud in Scottish accented quips, purely to hear some other voice in the cell, even if it was a hollow, echoing voice that left a bad aftertaste in her ears- and the young woman was interested in some kind of discourse. But the man seemed to be playing the same game as her, staying silent, waiting. After a moment, she eased her position slightly, letting her legs uncurl and her back straighten, the noise little more than a scrape and clink of chains and the remainder of her shoes on the floor. Stubborn as she was, she kept her lips pressed together and made next to no noise, simply watching his silhouette with keen, indiscreet interest. He might not even speak English, she supposed, so was there really much point in trying to start a conversation, was there?

The slight noise of her movement caught his attention further, not being as sensitive to his ears as it would be to her own. He began to think that this girl wanted to be noticed. Of course, why else would she make a sound? But she didn't say anything. This suggested to him that she had been here for a while, clearly lacking usual social abilities. He bit the inner part of his bottom lip, in a gesture of concern. This man had also been moved around to places for a while. But he hadn't met anyone in the same position as he. The man stopped taking the subject further, not wanting to let his thoughts spiral out of control. A short while passed, and his heavy breathing slowly calmed, allowing the silence to intensify. He knew she was bursting to talk, to say something, because as was he. Nevertheless, he continued to wait. The saying was, after all, 'L_adies first'_.

The rules of their game were simple enough, Adriana thought to herself. No words, no acknowledgement, purely because obdurate behaviour is the key to strength or power. First person to talk is weaker than the other. Still though, she continued to deliberate, we must be rather similar to both be doing the exact same thing. Perhaps they had just as complex a mind as she did. Wouldn't that be an interesting conversation? If he gave up and actually said something, that is. Since she certainly wasn't going to.

In fact, it took her precisely three minutes and forty two seconds to crack- she had counted, of course. The idea that this person was actually interesting was painfully seeming to be a reality. So, after careful contemplation, she finally spoke, not making any effort to hide her Dublin accent. If he couldn't understand it, that was his problem. "Adriana Selene Hartford. You know, if you were thinking about saying hi before I go completely mad."

A mere chuckle had escaped his lips to her words. They were obviously well thought about, no sign of hesitation as she spoke. She was curious about him, he thought. She was Irish, too. He looked up slowly, gazing upon her darkened figure. The man squinted his eyes slightly, trying to make out any features. But there were none. Only the obvious, really. She was fairly petite compared to him. But her personality did not match, as she was seemingly very confident.

He parted his lips slowly and emitted a short breath of air, suddenly desperate for a cigar. His cravings would sneak up on him every now and then. He suddenly lost interest in this girl, and turned his head slightly to glare at the door; and the small speck of light than shone through the gap. He began to ponder if one of the guards would have a cigar that he could maybe steal. He was so focused on assembling a plan to grab one, that he had completely forgotten about responding to...to.. What was her name again? He abolished the theory and his momentary curiosity, as he slid his back up the wall; struggling to his feet.

Other than the small bit of laughter at her assumedly amusing actions, Adriana receive no reply, which was rather infuriating. Though somewhat emblematic of her life as well, she mused with a smile playing on her lips. She returned to quiet contemplation, wondering if 'well, fuck you too' would be an appropriate response to his lack of one.

The answer to that, of course, was 'not if you want to make a slightly good impression' but she didn't make much of a habit of worrying about impressions. Though something about this man made her keep her mouth shut- perhaps it was his seeming resilience to whatever pain he was going through, as he was actually managing to stand, something that Adriana had had difficult with for a long while.

"Once you open my stream of consciousness, you can't expect it to shut up in a matter of seconds. I'm certain that I'll keep talking to the darkness until I get some sort of reply." She murmured with a light roll of her eyes. "Unless, of course, this whole event is actually a figment of my presumably deranged and morbid imagination, in which case I don't expect you to respond, though I shall be rather despondent regarding the deterioration of my mental health."

The man stood by the door, leaning against it as his body was in a bit of an incapacitated condition. He was utterly deprived of his physical strength, becoming weaker by the second; and he felt that his mental condition would lower soon, too, if he didn't get a blasted cigarette.

When the man finally realised he could gather nothing from this side of the door he sighed in a confounded manner, and lazily turned his head towards the female's voice of indignation. So she wanted a reply. He wasn't too sure on what to reply with; her sudden outburst of annoyance stupefied him merely.

Letting out a much too dramatic sigh, Adriana shifted slightly in her position. "Fine. Be that way. Punk." She mumbled, turning to her chains. She had been working at the locks with her fingernails for a while, but they hadn't done much so far, though she had managed to shift a few tumblers. Being chained to the wall was much worse than wearing handcuffs and being free, since there was a much larger limit on movement and general capabilities. If she could just get one hand free...

Of course, it was murder on her fingernails, but one stopped worrying about those sorts of things while in a Serbian prison cell. "You haven't got a bobby pin over there, have you? Or... I dunno, an earring? Chicken wire would be acceptable at this point."

The man continued to stare at the darkness in her direction. He could hear the small sound of scraping against metal. From this he gathered that she was chained to something. A wall? Why, he thought. Was she dangerous? This interested him in the slightest way, so he pulled his hands down at an awkward angle to search through his pockets. There were few hair clips in there he had managed to steal from various women along his journey, he would use them to pick locks when needed. In this case, he would spare on for her. There was a faint sound on the floor, from where he had thrown her a clip. And then he remained as he was before. Still, silent and curious.

Raising an eyebrow at the fact that he did, indeed, have something useful towards her being two chains less imprisoned, Adriana extended a foot out and pulled the hair clip towards her, deciding not to comment about how he could have handed it to her, since he appeared to be either mute, not able to speak English, or just incredibly stubborn. She caught it between two of her toes and lifted her leg up in what probably was some adrenaline fueled display of gymnastics, then handed it to her fingers. Given new life at the prospect of escape, her fingers, nimble and quick, bent to the lock and slid the hair pin in, feeling the tumblers already giving with the superior tool. Two minutes, ten seconds, she thought with satisfaction as the lock clicked in the darkness and her wrist fell free. "Much obliged." She murmured, picking up the hair pin and undoing the other in less than a minute. Though she wasn't out, out, at least she could move her hands.

The smirk which rested upon this man's face wasn't visible in the dark, but it was indeed true. He was very impressed at the speed of which it was done. The unlocking of the chains. She was very desperate to escape, he thought. But could she?

The man's curiosity only grew within this time, so he slid his back slowly down the wall to sit opposite her. He wanted to start a conversation now, but he didn't know how to. Nor what to base it upon.

Rubbing the wounds on her wrists, and feeling the sharp specks of metal embedded in her skin, the vibrantly haired woman winced and hissed slightly. She needed medical help, iodine or bandages or something. Still, at least she was out of the cuffs before her wounds got worse. "Prepared sort of fellow, hm?" She chuckled, picking up the hair pin and straightening it.

"Got a name? I mean, you either don't speak English, or you're mute, but you gotta know Morse code or something, right?"

The man sat in the shadows, and nodded once without realising that his gesture was invisible.

"Yes." He muttered finally, in response to one question. He was clearly well spoken, pronouncing the 's' correctly at the end. Although his voice was quiet and weak. "Very prepared." He remarked. The response was fairly late but nevertheless he had answered.

The voice that he used was, in all honesty, chilling. Though it was diminished slightly, most likely through disuse and torture, it carried a clear, powerful baritone. His silhouette had become more pronounced and she could see high cheekbones and the unruly curls that framed his ears. Adriana moved a bit closer to him. "I can get those cuffs off, if you'd like." She offered, still fidgeting with the hair pin.

The man shook his head, un-hesitantly choking out a "No." Despite his sudden objection he remained perfectly still. "You shouldn't really have done that either." He muttered, managing to catch a glimpse of her bony and damaged wrists.

"You're much more hurt than you let on." The young woman commented, glancing over towards her chains with disinterest. She supposed she could always ask why, exactly, but it was difficult for her to admit that she didn't know something. Instead, she stood up and began feeling the walls, standing on the tips of her toes. "Pretty sure there's a ventilation something or other in here. I can Dr. No my way out of this." She chuckled lightly.

He rolled his eyes and huffed merely. He was still very interested in this woman, in her character, but he'd never show it. He would never reveal the interest he held in another. "Ignorant." He muttered under his breath. "As stupid as they are, they wouldn't make a cell with a bloody air vent. It's a mere luxury, if not that, a very obvious escape route." He didn't bother to elaborate on the point, he'd figure his breath to be wasted. As much as he enjoyed showing off, he didn't really have the energy to continue talking.

"Ray of sunshine, aren't you? Maybe I was coaxing the universe to make one. It sometimes listens to me." Adriana huffed, letting her fingers fall on a damp spot on the wall where there had been a small amount of leaked water. She hummed interest, tucking the hair clip in her nest of neon strands. Leaning the side of her head against the wall, she counted the drops for three minutes. "Two." She murmured. "Two drops per minute. Judging by the puddle on the floor and extent of the moss, if the drops were consistent this whole time..." She knelt down next to the floor and felt the puddle that was there, mentally measuring the width and depth. "Irregular shapes are harder." She muttered, closing her eyes for a moment. "One month, two weeks, six days. That's how long I've been here." Her words were mostly quiet, more of a whisper, but she took on a satisfied, triumphant tone once she figured it out.

He kept his ears open, listening intensively to everything she said. His ears picked up her movement from one place to another. The heavy silence. And then her conclusion. He was impressed. In a way happy, that he wasn't again in the company of somebody who seemingly lacked brain cells.

"But what if they were continuous even before you were moved here?" He asked after a short while of thinking. She had obviously been moved. The marks on her wrist were fairly new. Been made in the same place. Most probably matched the lining of the cuffs she'd been chained to.

Questions were good. They meant answers, and Adriana was good with answers. She liked to have everything able to be broken down into simple equations and thoughts, and a person couldn't have those without and inquiry.

"An excellent point, however, I believe I can recall how this began." She pointed to the leaking water. "I yelled a few Serbian curse words at the bastards when they tossed me in here, and they let out a round to scare me. Didn't work, but I'm assuming it started this lovely little clock." She stood on the tips of her toes, searching for the origin of the leak. The cement had given in to a small, .22 bullet, which had broken one of the pipes that ran above and around the walls in the prison. "Knew it." She grinned as she felt the smooth metal of the bullet.

A curious eyebrow rose on this man's rather perfectly structured face. He smiled faintly, really starting to like this girl. But still, he thought she was rather ignorant.

"So how are you planning to escape?" He began, his voice as strong as he could get it. "It would take a while, I presume. And who knows, within that time they may become suspicious. Hell, even figure it out. Keeping in mind that _when_ they do, you'll be punished." A smirk played upon his lips. This was starting to get fun. "Are you really ready to take that risk?"

Tearing a strip of her tube top-ish rags, Adriana tore two makeshift bandages and wrapped them tightly around her wrists. Though they wouldn't do much, she felt much more secure with them on. "Oh, I see how it is. You can't bear to drag up enough strength to tell me your name, but you can easily be pessimistic and negative." She rolled her eyes and walked over to the door, legs shaking slightly, and held her ear against the cool metal. "My dear sir, you underestimate the risks I am willing to take." She grinned again.

"The guards walk in a counter clockwise circuit around the prison block. It takes them ten minutes, and they change shifts every two hours. If the emergency escape, which, when opened, sets off a loud, annoying klaxon that draws out every guard down, but also leads to the airfield, is twenty meters to the right away from this prison door, will a nimble prisoner have the time and the skill to commandeer a plane before getting caught?" She pulled the hair clip out from her tangled strands again. "The answer is that there is a 34.1 percent chance I will die by gun shot, but factoring in the fact that half of these men have never had to shoot so much as a barn door, it's probably more like 17.02 percent. There is also a rather high chance that I will die from being caught and tortured, in which case my revenge complex will give out entirely and I'll lose the will to live."

The man returned to his feet yet again, the process to stand being slow. "It's 50/50 then." He muttered, moving about his ankles to examine how strong the cuffs were. "Or basically a suicide mission." He pointed out. "There is hardly anything to motivate you into doing something so absurd." The man limped across the cell, a gash on his leg with a thick wound under slightly torn clothing. He struggled to remove another clip from his pocket, crouching down and trying to unlock it in the dark. He could hardly see, and his hands were trembling; bruises on his knuckles and dirt under his fingernails.

Adriana sighed and shook her head slightly, taking a brief moment to lean against the wall. "You've got no idea what motivates me." She rolled her eyes up towards the ceiling, listening to the faint dripping of the water, reminding herself of its speed and correlation to the time. She glanced down at the man. "You still haven't told me your name, and I've given away a very large amount about myself. Shouldn't the scales be balanced, before I either bravely escape or die?" She asked, raising an eyebrow towards him. She pondered, for a moment, if he would come along with her and aide in her escape, but he seemed rather set on staying here, in his chains. Pity. Two heads were better than one.

The trembling of his hands clearly got the better of him; he had dropped the clip to the floor, his attempt at unlocking the cuffs around his ankles completely failed. He sighed in a fashion of vexation, gathering more energy to reach out for the clip; which was a task and a half.

A thought flickered through his brain momentarily: What _would_ motivate her? He was rather clueless. He didn't like being clueless. The man parted his lips, emitting a short breath from his mouth. "You're heading to your death, and your final wish is to _know my name_?" He managed a short chuckle, falling harshly to his knees. His hands were merely inches from the clip, but he didn't have enough strength to hold himself up anymore.

Noticing the other's apparent distress, Adriana clucked her tongue and knelt down on the ground next to him, picking up the hair clip. "Let me." Despite burns, callouses, small cuts, and a general lack of hygiene that coated her hands, she was deft in her movements and her fingertips moved with the ease and dexterity of someone who had spent long hours practicing and using that practice. The locks of the chains on his ankles came free with little travail.

"Three minutes and sixteen seconds." Adriana announced as she straightened up, smoothly sliding the hair clip back into his pocket. "And two locks done. I think that's a new record. And yes, I would like to know your name, as it's probably a gorgeous name, and I would like to put a label to your dazzling intelligence and remarkable resilience to pain and crushing silence." She chuckled and smoothed her hand down the door.

The man glanced up at her, suddenly propping himself back up, straightening his posture. "Thank you." he muttered, slightly embarrassed at his incapability. He held his hands together firmly, with the fingers interlocked; trying his best to keep them from palpitating. Staying silent as he waited patiently, he began to notice her delicacy and skill when picking the lock.

"I know." he remarked straight after she had announced the time, without really thinking much about it. Something flickered in his eyes when she had observed the seemingly excruciating pain that he was in. He shook one foot, letting the chains slide away. "Would you?" he muttered lazily.

Sighing in minor exasperation, Adriana knelt down again and pulled the chains away. "You really don't want to tell me your name, do you?" She rolled her eyes and picked the lock on his wrists, this time going a bit slower, her movements more purposeful. She was not used to being gentle, since she rarely touched anyone other than to punch them or make a vague attempt to claw their eyes out with her sullied nails. It took a large amount of effort in order to not roughly grip the other's wrists or the links of his chains. The lock clicked free soon, though, and she pulled the metal cuffs off and set them down on the ground before turning back to the door and leaning her ear against it. "Hm... the guards just passed. Five minutes until they reach the point that is the most far away."

The man ran his fingers across the marks on his wrist, flinching slightly as he identified the point of pain. He stood slowly with a groan, remembering the wound on his leg. As hard as he tried to ignore the unbearable agony, it slowly became harder to. He patted his trousers softly, allowing the dust from the ground to dissolve into the air. "How are we meant to get out?" He didn't enjoy being the one who was clueless, always asking questions. The door was steel, none of them could exactly kick it open. They barely had enough strength to run; but eventually they'd have to.

Grumbling at the lack of identity that he offered, despite how much she had asked for it, she turned and examined the door again, her fingers brushing the outline of it and running down the hinges of the doorway. It locked from the outside- of course, they weren't complete idiots. The texture was slightly bumpy with imperfections in the steel make. "If only I had hydrochloric acid..." She mumbled, and moved to focus on the hinges more intently. "Well, if there was some kind of way we could get rid of the screws, then when they pass by again, we could just lift the door off... though I'm not sure if either of us are in the shape to do so."

He was a very prepared, logical and overall organised man, but not much so to carry around hydrochloric acid. The man snickered, and flickered his eyes to focus upon the hardly visible wall beside him. How she mumbled that possibility aloud was rather amusing, he thought. "Well unless you have a screwdriver, I'm afraid we've got ourselves in a bit of a predicament." He began to wonder how they'd be able to simply pull the door off, if they had gotten that far anyway. There would be security cameras. It's most likely that one of them would get badly injured in doing so, their bones being fragile and weak; he contemplated silently.

"I can practically hear your pessimistic thoughts, Mr. I'm-too-brooding-to-give-a-stranger-my-name." Adriana snorted and continued to study the door, taking a few steps back and outlining its shape in the darkness. She chewed on her lower lip for a moment, losing a bit of her ambition. For even with all of her bubbly attitude and optimistic view, she wasn't ignorant, and she knew that this escape would probably mean her death, and his, if he was going to tag along with her. She tapped her chin for a moment. "How easily can you break a neck?" She mused.

"As easily as a twig." He replied, with a flat undertone voice. With the right pressure point at hand, knowing which angle to hold the head before one sudden movement; yes, it would be simple. But was she really suggesting what he thought she was? "There are security cameras, you know?" he pointed out. He was trying to talk himself out of it, partially because he didn't enjoy _killing_. "Is it necessary?"

"Security cameras that sweep slowly and inefficiently. Come on, this is Serbia. If we time it precisely, like all else, then we can easily make it past them." She smirked, eyes narrowing at the door slightly. Though she had detected a slightly unsure tone in his voice, and she turned to look at his form. "I know, necks aren't really my _thing _either. I usually go in with a close range weapon, like a dagger or something. Hand to hand is far too messy and unpredictable." She sighed tiredly, as if the idea of combat was utterly exhausting

He sighed almost silently, and walked past her with a slight limp in his step. He rested both hands upon the door, turning his head and listening to the outside carefully. "One blow to the back of the head, and he'd lose consciousness. Take him from behind, he sees nothing. No need for murder. Murder has horrible consequences in this country. It would lead us straight to our own death." He spoke quickly, without hesitation.

Sudden curiosity approached his mind, and he pulled his head gently away from the door. "Why are you here, anyway?" he whispered.

Murder wasn't all that bad, she thought to herself, though decided not to voice it. She had assumed that this man was similar to her in skills with the deadly arts and a coldness towards human life, but he seemed a bit more innocent, talking about knocking people unconscious when even a scalpel could bring about the end of life. Simple swipe to the carotid.

She leaned her head back to look at the other through the darkness. "What, you think that I'm going to tell someone who I know nothing about and who won't even give me his bloody name my reason for being here?" She pressed her lips into a thin line for a moment. "What can I say? I'm an open book to people who aren't idiots. Moriarty killed my Da. Long story, including smuggling and drug running and being in the wrong place at the wrong time. I started on my revenge driven path when I was seventeen and haven't slowed down since."

Discomfort overwhelmed him to the mention of the name. Moriarty made him feel sick to his stomach; in perfect honesty he found it hard to keep standing. If they were both after the same person, and both in each other's presence he knew it wouldn't end well.

He then noticed how she'd always complain about knowing hardly anything about him, yet she would continue to spill out information of herself. For all she knew, he could be Moriarty. Why did she trust him so much? He thought. He's a stranger. The man did nothing in response to her depressing past, he hardly commented on it.

He turned his head away, glaring at the door. There wasn't enough time to chat or question how much she knew of Moriarty. "We need to open it." He said, knocking his knuckles gently against the steel.

Adriana studied him with a somewhat intense gaze for a moment, trying to peer through the darkness, see his eyes, his nose, anything that would give more of him away, but found nothing. She glanced down at the ground, nearly able to detect the gears and cogs in his head working. It was a talent of hers, really- knowing people, knowing their thoughts and emotions. Though this one was harder to crack.

"I can hear you think, you know. And I know that you're wondering why I'm so loquacious, why I tell you everything, why I would trust anyone, especially in my position. You think that it's dangerous, that I shouldn't reveal so much about myself or my motives. And perhaps, just perhaps, you think I'm a tiny bit insane. But you're different from most people, so I doubt you think that yet. It takes longer, the less normal you are, to see how insane I am." She leaned against the wall for a moment to continue her monologue. "And yes, you're a complete stranger, but you're also not. Because I can see that you're a genius, and probably more able than me to go about with any of this hunting down—"The man sighed heavily, vexation and anger yet again visible in his trembling breath. He rose his right hand, rudely cutting her off her speech. "Sorry, love. You're being a bit distracting. If you could just," he rose his index finger to his lips, and emitted a "Hush" sound from his mouth. "That'd be great."

He began to ponder various possibilities as to what, in this cell could open the door. At the moment, he had about eight theories. He turned his head from one way to another, adjusting his eyes to the dark and making out his surroundings. "Six." he muttered, counting down the possibilities aloud. The sudden silence that overcame the woman was also very distracting, so talking aloud would help him focus more. "Mm...Four." he muttered, hesitantly.

Letting out a snort of incredulity at the interruption and the rude gesture, Adriana returned to her usual half-sulking, half-alert position leaning against the wall and glancing over at him. Six, he said, four, he said. She refused to inquire as to the meaning of these words, as she did not like to engage in such condescending activities. She liked numbers though, and decided that until he gave her the meaning behind them, she could puzzle over them herself. 6 and 4, descending pattern by two. 6 times 4 equals 24. 6 plus 4 was ten. 6 minus 4 was 2. 6 divided by 4 was 1.5. If you factored them into the Pythagorean Theorem, then c would equal 7.211... All of this in a matter of milliseconds, the data swimming in front of her eyes. None of it was hard enough, though.

"This is getting dull. Got an answer yet, or shall I put my incredible brains to work on it?" She turned back to the door and held her hand against it as well. "We could let someone open it and I could do my thing." She hummed, returning to the conversational, normal tone that she had used before, as if nothing that she had said had any effect on anything.

"Mm. No, maybe five." He muttered to himself, staying perfectly still with two fingers either side of his temple.

He slowly dropped his hands, turning to face her. He had only just realised something she had said. And she was going to stand there, remaining silent? Whilst he was doing all of the work?

"Let somebody open it?" He replied, echoing her words. "Do your _thing_?" He seemed confused. Wasn't that the better idea? The obvious one? Why she didn't mention this sooner was past him. "Yes." He breathed, feeling slightly light headed. He moved about his leg, feeling the damp material on his trousers; must be blood, he thought. "Yes." He said, again, soon dismissing the enduring and excruciating pain. "Let's just do that and see how it goes."

"Finally." She snorted and moved her position so that she was seated, crouching, behind the area where the door would open, just out of reach if it happened to be thrust open. The last thing she needed was her lovely brain smashed against the concrete wall. "You've got a funny sort of brain. Twisting and turning until you find the answer, which was right in front of you the whole time." She said softly, feeling her nerves starting to spark up. One person escaping on their own was ludicrous, even if she was a genius. But two people... she grinned.

"Are you feeling alright? You appear to be a bit..." She studied the way that he moved. "Drunken. I'm assuming you feel a bit faint? Has the idea that you're sharing a cell with a possibly insane revenge-driven sociopath started to get to you?" She chuckled.

He sighed, sliding his back down a wall until he was crouched, just behind herself. "I'm just not used to talking to someone intelligent. Normal people rant on about all kind of nonsense. I just thought you'd be the same; not mentioning anything of importance." That was the closest thing to an apology she'd get.

"I can assure you, love, I've felt that way for years." The man later on muttered. He forcefully chuckled, trying to focus on anything but the intense and somewhat violent pain. He shifted slightly, getting a better balance in his position. He glared to the door, surveying its stillness. He was ready to jump to his feet and run, ready for the adrenaline to kick in and hopefully spark energy into his bloodstream.

All was still for a while. It was the sort of while that Adriana didn't measure, that seemed more like moments and instants than any sort of conceivable expanse of time. She mulled over his words, deciding to take them as a compliment, and perked up at the use of 'love', as she had always been keen to pet names, and favored them above her real one.

She was about to murmur something in agreement as to the amount of ordinary people that she herself had to put up with, when she heard the faint sound of footsteps. Not the uncoordinated, disjointed sound of guards stumbling along, eager to end their shift and go drink with the misconception that it would warm them up- even though alcohol actually contracted the veins after a while and made one colder, as well as created a drowsy state that was no good for a guard- but the sound of a superior officer marching along. Just one, she realized, and her face lit up. She could do that. Easily.

The door opened with a vicious, authoritative noise, and the dim light of lanterns filled the room. Adriana quickly adjusted her eyes to it, knowing she would have to. The man who entered was not one of the men that she had seen before. He looked very out of place, in fact, and did not seem to be carrying a weapon. Heavy fur coat and hat, hooked nose, beady eyes, and frightfully pale skin. Underneath the coat, he was clearly thin. Jesus, what sort of person had they sent to collect either her or the other man? She narrowed her eyes for a moment in confusion, remaining crouched, her eyes darting between the figure of the wounded man - now illuminated, but she couldn't waste time looking at him now- and the strange guard. "_Odmor je zavrsen_, Sherlock." The guard started to say to the wounded man, but Adriana started at the sudden voice and lunged forward, slamming him against the concrete wall and holding a hand over his mouth before he could speak another word, or scream, shoving her knee into his stomach. Though she didn't do anything more, and seemed to almost be looking for some assent from Sherlock.

The man fell back onto his backside and closed his eyes in a mere sigh of relief. "That took a bloody while." He said loudly, raising his hand as he stood.

"Hey, get off of him will you? He's our get out of jail free card." He boasted, with a smirk. Sherlock looked toward the light, and he squinted; his eyes cornering with a sore colour of red. Sherlock stood forward, and flicked the hat on the man's head. "Queer fellow." He remarked, mocking his attire. He slumped his shoulders, soon forgetting about Adriana who was probably bursting with questions. "Don't suppose you have a cigar on you, brother?"

Grumbling at the adrenaline that was to now go painfully unspent, Adriana took a few steps back, still glaring at the man with skepticism and pure venom. He was not Serbian- that much was clear by his accent (ghastly) and the fact that he didn't have an AK-47 slung over his back. He had called the other man... Sherlock? Strange name, she supposed, though it seemed to match him in the oddest of ways. And what, had Sherlock just called him brother? Or was that just an expression? She supposed that these questions would receive no answers, and didn't bother to ask them, simply stood and looked between the two of them. "Course you'd bloody ask for a cigar at a time like this." She muttered under her breath, glancing out the door apprehensively.

Mycroft glowered at the woman for a moment, having a few questions of his own regarding her identity and why she had just accosted him, but did not voice them- she was probably just an ordinary criminal, after all, violent and useless. "I believe that a degree of gratitude is in order before you demand cigarettes." He let out a breath of irritation and dusted himself off. "No, I do not. I do, however, as you said, have a 'get of jail free' card for you." He murmured. "Though first, who is your volatile little friend?"

Sherlock looked down at his body, and could now notice the little specks of dirt and blood on his clothing. He noticed the marks on his wrist, and more wounds from near his collar bone. It seemed to be more painful at the sight, he silently remarked with the faintest smile. He looked up to his brother, and to Adriana; they were stood glaring at him, as if waiting for a response. Since he hadn't been listening himself, but noticed how the woman was regularly glancing at the door, and how Mycroft was looking to her with questioning eyes, he could get a fairly good idea on what he was oh so ignorant towards.

"No one." He said, turning on his heel and looking anywhere but the door. It seemed as though nobody was around, and they could run. Escape. He had to thank Mycroft for that later, supposedly. God, he hate thanking him. His shoes curved at an angle slightly as he turned back to face them. "Well, she's someone. But I'll explain later." He said again, just remembering she knew of Moriarty. Sherlock clapped his hands together with the most malevolent smirk he could manage. "So, where's the exit?"

In the light, Adriana also looked much different from just a silhouette, and despite her general lack of covering- her former tank top wasn't much more than a sports bra at this point- she was a picture of cool, though slightly nervous, confidence. Mycroft was continuously giving her vibrantly colored hair a few offhand, if disgusted, glances, but she simply smirked and ran a hand through the pink streaks and the ragged jet black of her original hair color. She felt bare without a weapon, though, and wished that Mycroft had brought a weapon she could steal.

"Oi, I am as far from no one as you can get." She muttered indignantly, then nodded curtly at the correction. "There ya go." She went and stood in the doorway, looking down the hallways. "Strange woman." Mycroft muttered. "And the exit is in the form of a helicopter outside. Come along. And you may stop looking so furtive. I've made certain there will be no guards outside." He said to Adriana, who snorted. "And in doing so, you've ridden me of any chance of getting so much as a Glok." She rolled her eyes and strode outside, the remainders of her heels clacking against the floor. Mycroft blinked a few times and followed her, though he didn't like the sensation of following people.

His eyes were still adjusting to the light, as Sherlock took a moment of silence to focus them. He allowed his brother and the stranger to bicker away at one another for a short while,- apart from one time when he responded to Mycroft's disapproval of the girl with "No, I quite like her." as he followed her out with his eyes - before he turned and trailed along behind them both. As they made their way to the helicopter, Sherlock glanced to and from his brother and Adriana; he was wondering whether or not their opinion would change of this new character.

Now he could see her in the light, Sherlock studied Adriana's appearance meticulously. This would hardly be of any use, he thought; as her clothes were all torn and traced with both dirt and blood. This would hide most of the evidence he'd usually gather from a person, so he didn't bother assessing her for long. Either way he was curious, and knew he'd see her again; they had the subject of Moriarty to discuss further.

Sherlock was limping slightly as they continued to stroll along, the thick blood which was now visible stood out from the pastel colour of his skin; although you could not perceive his pain from his blank facial expression. He was still craving a cigarette, and was rather surprised that Mycroft didn't possess one. He turned his miraculously blue eyes to Mycroft, adding slight skepticism in his expression. "Are you _sure_ you don't have a cigar on you?"

Ignoring the other's conversation and the scrutinizing looks, Adriana smartly made her way down the hallway until arriving at a set of double doors at the end. While she probably should have waited for consent from Mycroft, she was not really one for waiting, and pushed the doors open determinedly, and stepped out into the cold wind outside, where a helicopter was indeed waiting. Shivering somewhat, but not quite showing it, she wrapped her arms around herself and paused, deciding that now was the time to actually follow someone.

"Yes, Sherlock, I'm positive. You can get your cigarettes when we get back to London." Mycroft said as the both of them walked into the cold behind Adriana, and Mycroft took the place as the leader. It was about a thirty meter walk, but it seemed much longer, mainly because of the piercingly cold weather. "London?" Adriana raised an eyebrow. "Hold on, I need to get to Ouagadougou next." She hurried forward and caught Mycroft's arm. He frowned and shook her off with a disdainful look. "Do explain why she is coming with us, Sherlock."

A short look of disappointment met Sherlock's eyes as he watched he brother take lead. He sighed as the wind propelled in their direction, brushing through his hair. The sudden coldness hit Sherlock hard, getting to any open wounds fast and irritating them; but in a way he was both thankful and relieved, because he was finally out.

The man inhaled slowly, glancing toward the helicopter and then to both Mycroft and Adriana again with an irascible glare. The realisation from Adriana's words soon caught Sherlock's attention; she needed to go to bloody _Africa_? He thought. He didn't need to respond to that, Mycroft wouldn't allow it; he'd rant on about how she was lucky enough for an escape. "She knows of Moriarty." Sherlock said, in a mutter as he trailed along behind him.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow at that, and he looked skeptically at the woman. If a woman with dyed hair, a smart attitude, and atrocious accent was someone who had something to do with Moriarty, he was fairly sure that he had overestimated Moriarty clientele vastly. "Ah." He murmured. "Then, Madame, I'm afraid you will have to forgo your trip to Burkina Faso."

Adriana rolled her eyes. "Don't Madame me, punk. It's Adriana Selene Hartford, or as most people call me, 'Adri- wait, is that a gun?!'." She grinned at the both of them and ran a hand through her colorful hair, boarding the awaiting helicopter with a slight bounce in her step. She supposed that her trip to finally deal with that irritating triad would have to wait. Though it was probably a bad idea to board a helicopter with two complete strangers who were affiliated with Moriarty, she doubted that she had much of a choice in the matter.

The tall man, with curly locks of his hair blowing over his face glanced to his brother with a simper on his lips after she had spoken. "Charming." he whispered sarcastically, in an undertone voice before he boarded himself. Mycroft followed in after him, and then the door had closed simply; the machine lifting into the air. Sherlock took an aviation headset and covered his ears with it, glancing to the pilot briefly as he did so; to see if the man would be one to carry a cigar. Unsurprisingly he wasn't, and so Sherlock sat back in his seat and waited until they had arrived at their destination.

Not surprisingly, Adriana fell asleep on the way there. 'There' being the undisclosed location in London that Mycroft was taking them to. She hadn't slept very well in a long time, and while slumped up against the window of a helicopter with her legs tucked underneath her didn't exactly qualify as real sleep, she still managed to recover from some of the exhaustion. While she didn't act like it, she had been through extensive torture, pain, and psychologically traumatizing events. Her general manner was one of optimism and bounciness, though that was around acquaintances. In the solitude that she usually enforced, she had nightmares, drank extensively, and pushed away anyone who tried to disturb her habits. This was the main reason that she was worried about going to London and presumably being interrogated. She would have to be around the same people for a long amount of time.

Sherlock had stayed awake throughout the whole trip, if not gazing out of the window he'd be continuously glancing over to Adriana; seeing if he could gather anything new from each cursory gander. But he didn't'. She wasn't as transparent as other people he had had a brief encounter with. Sherlock looked to his brother, silently wondering if his brain was just as obscure towards her as his. At one moment, he parted his lips to question it, but he soon changed his mind when he realised that it would show that he held interest towards the girl- no matter how slight.


	2. Chapter 2

**Woah, it's been a while since I uploaded the last chapter. We (my amazing writer partner and I) have managed to write a TON, so expect loads of new chapters. Expect romance, angst, drama, etc. If you see any errors, inform me and I will fix them :3 Enjoy!**

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Stirring awake at the feeling of the helicopter landing, Adriana sat up straight, and in minor alarm before she realized where she was and who she was with. London, with Sherlock and that irritating guy, Mycroft. Sighing with irritation, she stood up and cracked her neck, then followed Sherlock out of the helicopter. Mycroft had abandoned the ridiculous Serbian disguise, and was now dressed in a fitted suit. Pretentious, Adriana thought to herself with a roll of her eyes.

"You'll both be taken to a room for medical attention, and hopefully, a bit of cleaning off." Mycroft said offhandedly, and ushered the both of them off of the helipad they had landed on and down a small staircase.

"I don't need 'medical attention'" Sherlock huffed, not appreciating the way he'd been pushed forward; not even slightly. How long in his presence? And Mycroft was already being the stubborn and controlling big brother he always had been. Yet, the man still limped his way down the staircase. As he walked, he glanced to the girl again curiously. Still nothing, he remarked silently with irritation and impatience. She was surprisingly silent though, he thought; but that was virtually all he gathered. Adriana smiled, and ran a hand through her dyed hair. "I admire your stubbornness." She chuckled as they strode down the stars and into a room containing a shower, medical supplies, towels, and clothing. There were several sparsely placed pieces of furniture as well. "I was not anticipating picking up two people, particularly not a woman. I'll order some clothing as soon as possible." Mycroft said curtly. Adriana rolled her eyes and ran a hand through her hair again, then walked into the air conditioned, and slightly chilly room. Without hesitation, she tugged off her jacket, tossing it on a metal chair before moving over to the medical supplies. "You do realize that there are doctors, should you need one." Mycroft said curtly as she wiped some of the dirt off of her arm with an iodine soaked pad, revealing a half-healed gash along her arm. "I don't trust doctors. Not after last time." She replied ambiguously, and threaded a needle, cutting the end off with surgical scissors.

The man glanced away from Adriana when she spoke, his lips revealing a mere trace of a smirk. A simper was all he could manage, as laughter brought him pain; he then remembered he had been abused recently near his abdomen.

Sherlock entered shortly behind the woman, assessing the place briefly with his eyes. He wasn't too fond on doctors himself, but he realized that the place was lacking something which he very much needed; and so he turned on his heel to face his brother. "Where might the doctors be, Mycroft? I'm in need of some morphine." he muttered faintly. "Oh, and a cigarette." he requested, most likely to cause irritation or annoyance for his brother. The tall man with the darkened curls turned to look over his shoulder, noticing only one shower. "And a different room." he added, finally

For the most part, Adriana could ignore the conversation between the two men. She had patched herself up before, countless times. Well, not _really _countless. 66 times. But it seemed like a lot- ducking into trenches to wrap a bandage around her abdomen, nipping ice water from soldiers to clean off a head wound, or to cool the swelling on a twisted ankle- as her injuries only seemed to accumulate over time.

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "I'll get your morphine and a cigarette." He said, finally defeated, and huffed. "Though another room cannot be provided. You'll simply have to make do with showering in the same room as... that." He said this with the tiniest of smirks, and a slight gesture towards the woman sewing up her arm. Adriana noticed the smirk and gesture, which she despised immediately. "Oh, shut it. I'm assuming that this is the only time you'll even come close to a nude woman." She snorted, before gasping in pain as she pulled the needle through her skin. She scrunched her eyes shut for a second and forced herself to breathe, then continued. "I won't take too long in the shower, Sherlock." She reassured, hissing as she tugged the gash in her arm closed and cut off the thread, tying it. She flexed her arm. Pain, possible nerve damage. Healing time, approximately 10 days. With that analysis, she strode over to the shower and turned on the hot water, shedding the scraps of her clothing with near reckless abandon and immodesty. She caught the gaze of Mycroft, and smirked herself. "Make do with _that_." She stuck her tongue out at him, then stepped into the water. Mycroft let out an exasperated breath and turned away curtly to get the items requested.

Sherlock glared at Mycroft all the while in silence, his eyes like ice. He was never really sure on what to do in situations like this as it all got a bit awkward. The man inhaled slowly through his nose, watching his brother as he walked away in a hurry; which was, needless to say, quite amusing. He chuckled almost silently, soon feeling sharp pains all over his torso.

Heaving over in sudden agony, Sherlock wrapped his arms around the pain tightly; somehow hoping he'd be able to trap it into one big ball and it would just numb. But that didn't happen. His breaths quickened as all of the pain he so carelessly ignored earlier returned harsher than before. "Ugh" he groaned, forcing himself to pull back and straighten his posture. The man's eyes narrowed slightly in question; did she just say _'Sherlock'_? Ah, she _was_ observant, he thought.

He turned slowly, forgetting that there was a woman opposite him who was naked. Sherlock didn't gasp nor reflect the same response as his brother, he just quickly bowed his gaze to the medical supplies, and grabbed something in hope that she didn't notice him glancing. A sigh of vexation emitted from his lips as he didn't know where to start- his legs, arms, torso were all aching terribly- and he didn't even know if this would be enough equipment.

Cleaning and self-care had never been a very large priority in Adriana's crime filled life, and the most she usually did was a shower in a hotel room here or there, or a quick wash of her vibrant hair- self-dyed, of course- and face in the closest body of water. She normally carried the necessary hygienic products with her in a bag, or within a million of the pockets on her cargo pants or army jacket, so the process was decidedly quick and simple.

Of course, now, there was hot water, all the time in the world, and an array of different hair products. _Jesus, that is a lot of hair products,_ she thought as she rubbed shampoo- volatizing, of course- into her hair, _especially_ _if they weren't expecting a woman. _Once she felt she had cleaned out her hair, and had removed all of the useful utensils she had tucked into the strands from it (including two bobby pins, a stick of chewing gum, some string, and a miniature comb) she worked at the tangles with some brand of conditioner she didn't recognize. After that, she got rid of the grime coating her skin, which had faded to a creamy Irish color during her time spent away from the sun. Simply because she knew her clothes weren't here yet, and she was probably going to want to wear short skirts, she shaved as well, considering that there were several razors- it seemed that Mycroft had made this shower like some kind of hotel bathroom with complimentary everything, and Adriana half-expected to see a tin of mints or chocolates with 'Hilton' or 'Marriott' written on them- though a few thoughts regarding impressing _certain_ people ran through her head.

Mycroft came in with a pack of cigarettes, a syringe of morphine, towels, and lady's suit folded on top. Setting the towel and clothing down, he turned to Sherlock. "You must promise me you'll use this responsibly, brother mine." He said, using his 'big brother' voice, tilting his head to the side with a nod. "I don't wish to start a relapse." He added curtly. "And as for the doctors, they appear to be a bit late. I'm certain you can bear the pain until then. Or, perhaps, you could make an ambiguous attempt to intimidate me by doing your own stitches." He said this last bit louder, and obviously directed towards the woman in the shower. He turned around and walked away with a huff of irritated breath.

Adriana laughed. "Intimidate? Pf, I don't know what you could possibly be talking about." She turned off the shower and laughed, stepping outside of the shower, wiping water off of her skin and shaking droplets from her hair before picking up a towel and wrapping it around her body. She decided to pretend that she wasn't skinny as hell, and plucked at the suit. "Ugh." She muttered, much preferring something a bit more colorful, and perhaps form-fitting.

All was awfully still for a while, as Sherlock stood in silence trying his best to identify the worst point of pain on his body. He just wanted that damn morphine. He felt truly ghastly, the pain in his head and the rest of his body worsening by the second. Every so often he would mumble a groan of discomfort due to the excruciating pain he was currently feeling. This was ridiculously unbearable, he thought as he limped over to a seat. And that is where he sat until his brother returned.

When Mycroft had entered the room, Sherlock stumbled to his feet and strolled towards him; snatching the syringe with trembling hands. He snickered to his brothers words. "How can I use only one syringe of morphine irresponsibly?" he asked rhetorically with a slight roll of his eyes. His fingers ran across the base of the syringe as Mycroft continued to speak. Sherlock's eyes flickered up to the obvious remark of Adriana, and he smirked ever so faintly.

Sherlock turned his gaze lazily to the woman when his brother had left, and repeated his words to her mockingly "Such an _ambiguous attempt_..." he began, with a mischievous smirk on his lips. He began to ponder whether or not he'd be able to assemble more information on her character, now. The man helplessly ran his eyes down her figure, taking in every intricate detail he had gathered, carefully. Her skin reminded him of fine silk, he could see more colour in her cheeks now and... Yes, he thought. She was rather beautiful. His smirk slowly dropped, and he shook his head slowly; his vision became blurred. Sherlock turned away suddenly, and rolled up the sleeve on his left arm, carelessly injecting the morphine into a vein. He didn't flinch nor make any other sound to imply the physical agony he was in. The cigarettes and the morphine was a bit concerning. Adriana noted that he had asked for cigarettes no less than five times, and the morphine three times. Addiction. She pulled on the undergarments provided- plain, white. _Clearly Mycroft had no imagination_, she thought to herself, wishing for something with a bit of lace or style to it- and then started on the dress shirt. A pity that Sherlock had an addiction. They were ever so difficult to deal with. Though, she reasoned, she had had her own fair share of addictions. Alcohol had been a very present substance in a large portion of her life, but she normally used it just for the purpose of winning drinking contests to fund her revenge complex. There had been a bout of injecting herself with cocaine in order to stay awake and focused on her few sniper objectives, and once or twice she had tried marijuana. But drugs weren't her thing, and liquor was a thing of the past. She didn't want to dull her mind any further, after all.

She purposely left the top few buttons of the shirt open, and pulled the provided skirt on over it, then the jacket, looking for all the world like a posh executive. Well, a posh executive with pink streaks in her hair. Picking up the towel, the young woman dried off said hair. Needed to be cut, she noted, as it was growing past her ears, and she liked to keep a neat, pixie cut look. Sighing, she glanced over at Sherlock, out of habit, or perhaps concern. "For the record, it was more of a display of my abilities. Said abilities may actually be useful, since you're now on morphine and the doctors won't be here for a while." She ran a hand through her hair. She had never worked on another person before. It seemed much easier on herself, since gauging pain and the extent of the wound was simpler than having to... ask or whatever. "Do you... Er, want me to help?"

Sherlock slowly pulled the needle from his vein, noticing a sudden bruise forming around the slight cut he had made. He remained both silent and still for a short while, attempting greatly to keep paying attention to Adriana; anything other than the pain, since this amount of morphine would take a while to work. Sighing a sigh of frustration, he pulled down the sleeve to hide how violent he was with himself and he turned, throwing the empty syringe beside the towels. "I'm fine." he muttered, in response. His eyes darted about the various supplies before him, and he was silently contemplating on what to use next. His mind was leaning towards the cigarettes, but he knew that his brother wouldn't approve. Maybe later, he thought.

He strolled past Adriana, grabbing a towel as he did. He unbuttoned his shirt and slid it off as he stood near the shower. His gaze drifted down to his torso, noticing the scars and gashes in his flesh with great regret in his eyes. Sherlock inhaled slowly and closed his eyes, trying to block out the pain. Looking over his shoulder, his eyes rested upon the pack of cigarettes again; and without hesitation he limped towards them and grabbed them.

Because of course her help wouldn't be necessary. Adriana snorted and rolled her eyes, sitting down on the edge of a counter and picking up a hairbrush, starting to drag it through the strands of hair. She watched Sherlock with a cautious, almost detached look. Cigarettes, of course. She sniffed in disdain and looked away with irritation. Why would such a genius even bother to dote upon idiotic things like nicotine and morphine? She sighed in pity.

"While I realize that your obviously stubborn nature forbids you from allowing me to help you, I beg you to reconsider. The last thing I want to see while brushing my hair is an injured man hopped up on nicotine and painkillers writhing around on the floor and bleeding out. It will definitely put me off of dinner, and maybe even breakfast." Adriana said blandly, and let out a heavy sigh. Clearly, this man had little to no concern for his welfare- admirable, but altogether rather foolish- and the woman couldn't help but be a bit concerned for him.

By this time, Sherlock had a cigarette resting on his bottom lip and ready to light. He glared at her, unable to hide the fact that he felt slightly chagrined and pathetic. She was just as bad as Mycroft, he silently remarked. Resting the box firmly back beside other supplies, he parted his lips allowing the cigarette to fall to the floor. Strong tar as well, what a waste.

"Well of course," he murmured in an undertone voice. "Wouldn't want you sleeping on an empty stomach now, would we?" he continued, sarcastically. Sherlock turned and took an antiseptic wipe, still thinking he had no need for any sort of medical attention or 'help'. He began to dab at his wounds near his abdomen, his hands so obviously shaking; he turned away, trying to hide his weakened state. Smirking at the fact that she had been able to get him to drop the cigarette, Adriana continued brushing her hair, pulling the many-toothed comb off with a flourish. Completely indiscreetly, she let her eyes rove up and down his figure- he would look good if he wasn't starved to death- and shifted her position slightly. The clothing she wore was rather uncomfortable, and she found herself much preferring her rags to this businesswoman rubbish.

"Oi, there, I haven't eaten anything proper for weeks. If I sleep on an empty stomach, I may as well go Hannibal on you, and your pompous brother." She sniffed and held a hand to her abdomen, casting a dramatic, pained look, and a small smirk, over at Sherlock. He was turning away from her, though. She tsked. Injured. Weakened. But embarrassed by it. She could read body language well enough. "You're about ninety six seconds from collapse." The woman quipped.

"How very specific of you." The dabs on his skin became more violent and less careful over the minutes- nothing was working fast enough, not the morphine or the blasted wipes- and soon, Sherlock found himself throwing the blood soaked wipe to the floor. He'd already resisted the cigarettes as she had demanded, but not again would he succumb to her suggestions. Although he pretty much needed to, as he was overwhelmed by a spinning sensation to his head.

"I don't see how you'd be of any help." he finally muttered, truthfully. Sherlock turned to her, looking her up and down with a forced look of disgust. "You've obviously never-" The man blinked hard, trying to keep control of his consciousness. "-never _helped_ anyone before with a casualty." He gathered this by the conspicuous way she treated herself, and her violent manner.

With another eye roll, a motion that seemed to dominate a large part of her time, Adriana slid off the counter and set the brush down, moving over to where he was. "Oh, come on. It can't be too difficult. You're on morphine, so I can't hurt you too much, right?" She said with a vague smile. It wasn't much of a comforting statement, and she knew that, so she settled for pouring iodine disinfectant on a cloth and taking his wrist, looking at the injuries on his arm with an almost skeptical look. "Ouch. Alright, this might hurt a little, but you probably won't even be awake for much longer- I think I may have misjudged, by the way, and it's probably more like thirty nine seconds now- so it shouldn't be too bad." Biting her lower lip, Adriana started to clean out the wound.

"Thirty nine seconds until what? I pass out?" he chuckled merely, curling his lips to an angle as she began cleaning the wound. Honestly, it felt more like she was tearing the veins from his wrist. He exhaled slowly, his breath shaking due to the pain; although the morphine had started to work, the affect was only slight. He clenched his jaw, trying his best not to let out another groan of pain. "Don't be absurd." he mumbled through gritted teeth.

After a short while, Sherlock began to feel slightly better. And he hated that. Having to get help from someone-even if they weren't a doctor- it was still something he didn't enjoy. He noticed how Adriana's touch was soft and careful, he noticed how the top buttons of her shirt were purposely left undone- no finger prints on the buttons, so no attempt to button them up- and he noticed how seemingly smooth her hair was. God. He had to focus on something else, Hell, even the pain would be acceptable at this point.

It was surprisingly easy to take care of someone else. True, she was probably putting him through an awful lot of pain, but she had to be helping somewhat. After cleaning both of his arms, she found herself hesitating before moving to clean the wounds on his chest. It did seem like a rather intimate gesture. Then again, she had just stripped down in front of them and showered.

Adriana didn't often engage in sex. When she did, it was because she needed a favour, or someone's trust. Which made it all the more awkward to be making _caring_ gestures towards someone. Taking a deep breath, she moved to his chest, trying to stay consistent with the rest of her gestures, acting as if it was a big deal. Though he did have a nice chest. Great skin. She cleared her throat, feeling her cheeks go pink at the thought. "You don't need stitches on any of these. Bandages will do well enough. Any broken bones?" She asked, her voice a slightly higher octave than usual. She blushed darker.

The pain had eased a great amount, and Sherlock was thankful. In a way he wasn't, as he had all the more reason to turn his attention back to Adriana. He had managed to look elsewhere for a while- towards the cigarettes, the shower, hell, even just a plain wall- but when she moved her hands to his chest, he couldn't help but glance at her. Easily, he noticed the slight dilation of her pupils, the rouge colour on her cheeks and the mere hesitation beforehand. Their body proximity was close, he noted. Very close. In fact, Sherlock felt quite uncomfortable. Despite being a supposed high functioning sociopath, he felt an attraction towards the woman. And it was a queer feeling.

He moved his shoulders in a fashion of discomfort, but acted as though that it was to answer her question of the broken bones. "Not that I know of." he said, clearly. The man silently panicked, wondering if that sounded a little more seductive that it was supposed to. Which was not at all. His eyes, a glistening pale blue, glared down at her for a short while; they were soft and still. "Uh," he blinked once, forcing a smile to his lips. "Thank you."

There was a small possibility that, had Moriarty not killed her dad and she wasn't prone to obsessive vengeance, Adriana would have become a doctor. Or some kind of caretaker. She had a head for gore, and she knew a great deal about anatomy from her lessons in how to kill a man- or woman- in two seconds or less, and she was in general a very calm, collected person. Though there was the undeniable fact that she felt considerably awkward being this close to someone. She cracked a smile at the bit about broken bones, then told herself to get her damn mind out of the gutter, and continued working on his many wounds.

She picked up a roll of bandages and started to bind Sherlock's wounds, using careful, precise movements. "Naturally. Since your brother can't get a single bloody useful doctor to show up..." She smiled, then cleared her throat, tying off one of bandages with surgical tape. "And since you've stopped losing blood, as far as I can tell, you probably won't pass out. Unless the fact that an attractive woman currently has her hands all over your chest is too much for you to handle." Get it out in the open, she told herself. That was how you made situation less awkward.

Her touch was seemingly amplified, as his full attention was drawn to that only. The man tried desperately to focus on something else, but his mind wouldn't allow it. Which was truly frustrating. And so he forcefully tore away his gaze from her. He looked down to the bandages, and wondered if it'd be okay to shower with them on. Only for a moment or two was his mind focused on something different. When he heard her words, something unsteady ignited inside of him. He wasn't too sure on how to respond. The man was constantly racking his brain for something to say other than 'what?' Eventually, he chuckled to her words merely in a gesture of amusement; still unable to say anything in response. Which was new for Sherlock. Usually he'd have something quick and cocky to say. To anything. But to this he just awkwardly laughed. Pathetic, he thought. He began to mentally curse at himself; he had allowed one woman to make him weak and somewhat momentarily dumb. Speechless.

The light laugh that he offered in response could be felt as slight vibrations along his bruised skin which she easily sensed through her fingers. She made a vague attempt to stop the vermilion that seemed to inexorably settle on her cheeks, but to no avail. Straightening up as she finished taping the bandages over the marks on his back- _whip marks?_ - She cleared her throat, keeping her hand on the small of his back. "Well... that's... that's all done, then. I'm sure they'll hold up to a shower, if you don't tug at them too much. And trust me, I know the temptation to do so." She smoothed down the ridiculous suit she had to wear, and sat still for a moment with her hand on his back. Her heart was beating ridiculously fast. And she had actually _stammered_? "Er, sorry, I'll just..." She started to remove her hand, before jumping three feet in the air because of a rather loud, "Am I interrupting anything?" from Mycroft, who had materialized in the doorway. Blushing darker and standing quickly, Adriana smoothed down her clothing and shook her head. "Unless you count saving your little brother because of some incompetent and very late doctors, then no." She snorted. Mycroft glared at her. "Those doctors were on their way here and just happened to have a terrorist in their midst. The car and the passengers were blown to pieces." He folded his arms over his chest, looking almost smug. Adriana rolled her eyes. "Incompetent indeed. Didn't even notice a terrorist." She ran a hand through her hair. "_My point _is that word of either of your escapes, or in my little brother's case, resurrection, has clearly gotten out. I advise you both to behave cautiously." He looked between the both of them. "And discreetly." He added, with a particularly obvious glower towards Adriana.

Sherlock was still caught up with the sensation of her hands on his back- hands that had seemed fairly small and delicate- to notice her stutter her words. "Hmm?" he muttered suddenly, completely unaware that he had indeed made a sound. "Oh, no uh-" Sherlock turned his head abruptly towards the familiar voice; his body very tense, and his eyes looking rather fretful. Mycroft, of bloody 'course, he muttered mentally. The younger brother parted his lips to object, but Adriana had beat him to it. To be relieved or not, he was completely unsure but allowed her to continue.

He watched as they bickered, and didn't really listen; he was still trying to comprehend what had just happened between him and the incredibly good looking- His thoughts were cut off when he heard the word 'resurrection'. "Oh." he muttered aloud. He'd forgotten of his 'death'. Explaining that is going to be fairly hard, he thought. "Yeah..." he said again in a mutter; his voice very distant. "Discreet." he took a step forward, and accidentally knocked a few supplies from the table beside him onto the floor as he brushed past his arm.

In a surprising motion of concern, Adriana stepped towards him and caught his arm to support him, bending her other arm down to pick up the dropped supplies. Mycroft raised an eyebrow curiously... He didn't like to see the young woman being so intimate towards his younger brother. "Ms. Hartford." He said coldly, glaring sternly at her. "You're required to be debriefed. If you would come down to one of our secure rooms for some questioning...?" He clasped his hands behind his back and continued to stare at her with hate in his eyes. Adriana looked up and released Sherlock's arm. "You mean another bloody interrogation?" She folded her arms over her chest. "If you answer our questions, it doesn't have to be." Mycroft replied smoothly. "Yeah, that's an interrogation." She snarled, and adjusted the jacket around her. "Just come with me, Ms. Hartford. Two guards will escort you to an enclosed location where we can speak." The British Government said curtly. Adriana paled and gave Sherlock an almost longing look, before stepping towards the door. "Sir, yes, sir." She muttered with a mock salute, before two brutish looking man flanked her. "At ease, boys." She said sarcastically, before one pushed her forward and she emitted a loud, irritated 'Oi!' Mycroft smirked and turned to Sherlock, looking at him as if he expected an explanation.

As she caught his arm, Sherlock shot her a look of confusion and surprise. He found it odd that she continued to help him despite the harsh manner of his brother. His eyes glimpsed a look of thanks towards her briefly before she had to release her grip. "That's hardly fair," Sherlock moaned, finally turning to his brother; following Adriana out with his eyes. "_Brother Mine_." he said, mocking his words. "Years of interrogation and torture, only to be freed to receive more?" The man fiddled about with the folded suit on the table before him, and glanced over to the shower. "Don't be so stringent." he said firmly, animosity in his eyes; he slowly turned his gaze back to his brother, so the hate became visible. "It's not necessary. If I can see that she's harmless, so can you."

Mycroft sighed heavily and shook his head in irritation at his younger brother. Wonderful. He had fallen for someone. He always was the stupid one, though, so it didn't come as much of a surprise that he would eventually fall for some woman. Though Mycroft hadn't been expecting such a... _colorful_ sort of person to catch Sherlock's eye. "You know nothing about her. For all you know, she could be deeply undercover." He almost growled, but told himself to stay calm. After all, if Sherlock was falling in love with a woman who could break his heart and, more importantly, let out precious government secrets... "If you can see that she's innocuous, then it's probably because you're attracted to her." He added, still doubting the woman was harmless.

"Don't be so absurd!" Sherlock exclaimed, narrowing his eyes in a gesture of anger. "I'm just being observant, Mycroft. I see nothing that would come of harm to your precious government, you needn't worry." Sherlock curled his lips at an unpleasant angle to his brother's insane suggestion. "Use your logic." he spoke impatiently, behind gritted teeth. Strolling over to the shower, and slipping off his shoes as he did so, Sherlock muttered in an undertone voice "There's no need to hurt her."

"When you're quite finished, we need to have a discussion regarding why I brought you back here, and perhaps what exactly we should do about Ms. Hartford." Mycroft gave his brother a final, disapproving look, before he growled softly and turned on his heel, slamming the door behind him loudly.

After dealing with Adriana's sarcastic comments, insults, snorts, eye rolls, and finally, information, Mycroft had her brought up to his office, where Sherlock was to go after he was finished. The young woman continued with irritating and somewhat pointless questions that were along the lines of '[insert interrogative] the hell' followed by 'are you/am I' and random other random thing that didn't matter in the slightest. Where the hell am I, what the hell is going to happen to me, who the hell you think you are... and so on and so forth. After a while, she positioned herself on a chair, crossing her legs and looking prim, despite the fact that she had pickpocketed one of Mycroft's key cards, two paper clips, and a small bit of aluminum. The card was tucked into the waist band of the skirt, hidden underneath the shirt, and the paper clips and aluminum rested in her hair.

Sherlock made a slight snarling sound in response to his brother, feeling vexation and very hateful. After that, he undressed and entered the shower. Of which took quite long, due to other slight wounds across his body making it harder to move.

A few hours had passed, and Sherlock walked into Mycroft's office; glad to see Adriana unharmed, but daren't not to show his approval. The tall man was wearing a dark jacket over a dark shirt, smart trousers and shoes to match which curled ever so slightly on the toes. His face now looked as intricate and pristine as ever, and his darkened curls fell immaculately over his head. He stood in silence, and looked at the two of them with merely curious eyes before making his way to seat himself on a chair beside Adriana. Sherlock continued to glare to his brother in a slight loathsome way.

Though she would never admit it, Adriana had been distracted by Sherlock when he entered the room. Clean, and wearing clothing, he was pretty damn gorgeous. She inhaled sharply, before blushing and turning away to look at Mycroft. The elder man glared at the both of them, then began to speak.

"There is a terrorist cell active in London, and they have sent out a bomb threat. It is most likely credible, and I will require you to discover the person responsible, the plot, and to confiscate the bomb." Mycroft said curtly, straight and to the point. Adriana rolled her eyes, not because the situation was particularly irritating, but because Mycroft visibly despised the action. "You'll be brought back to Baker Street. And no one has been informed, or prepared, for your not being dead." This made Adriana raise an eyebrow. "What is this I keep hearing about resurrections and not being dead?" She wasn't an idiot, though, and she assumed that Sherlock had faked his death to make things easier. It was ever so irritating to be alive, which was why Adriana had erased all records of her existence.

"Sounds easy enough." Sherlock remained sat with his posture straight, and he was continuously glaring at his brother with annoyance. Pity that his little break was over, it seemed far less painful then to what was about to happen. He held the focus upon Mycroft for a while longer before turning to Adriana; most likely to be curious and confused. "I died." he said, simply. "And now it's time for me to...Well, not die." a weary look overwhelmed his eyes as he sighed, and turned his attention back to Mycroft. "Continue." he said, wondering what part Adriana would play in all of this sudden chaos. He found himself half hoping that she'd play a big part, or no part at all. It would obviously be dangerous, but- Sherlock glanced over to her, running his eyes leisurely down her figure again, somewhat helplessly- her company aroused him.

Nodding at the ambiguous explanation given, Adriana decided not to press further. After all, he looked absolutely exhausted, and she didn't want to bother him. Odd. Mycroft let out a heavy sigh and leaned forward, towards Adriana, making her have sudden flashbacks of watching Star Wars as a little girl with her dad, and being utterly terrified of the Emperor Palpatine character. Mycroft certainly carried that aura about him, and Adriana half-expected to hear him say something like "Good... Good... Let the hate flow through you..." Instead, he let out an exasperated sigh. "As my incompetent workers are unable to find any sort of records regarding your identity, we're at an impasse. I can't let you lose in London, nor can I jail you without probably cause." The answer was obviously to let Sherlock look after the woman, especially since John would be disinclined to be his partner again. But there was the possibility of them forming a tighter bond, possibly even a romance. Adriana seemed to read his mind, and a coy smile grew on her face. "I could always assist Sherlock in his investigation. After all, I'm not exactly an idiot, and I know lots of things about gangs and terrorists." She smirked towards Mycroft, who scowled, not quite ready to give in yet.

Sherlock continued the silence, sitting and observing the conversation. Despite his enjoyment of where the conversation was headed, he felt slightly torn between both Adriana and his brother. Mycroft was correct on one thing; Sherlock hardly knew the woman. However, he had been in her company long enough to gain her trust. And she had gained his. He had to learn to trust his instinct, he thought.

The man shrugged his broad shoulders slightly, staring at his brother with the faintest simper on his lips. "She's smarter than she looks." was all he had felt he needed to say; although he could go on and on, listing many a reason as to why he could just let her go, he didn't want to. Because she'd be exactly that. _'Let go'_. And from Sherlock's silent assumptions, she'd make a great partner... **_In work. With work only_**, he thought. He had to _snap out _of these thoughts soon, or else he'd stumble across a few suggestions that he wouldn't be able to go back on.

There was a long, heavy moment of hesitation, in which Mycroft glared at Adriana- who knew exactly what she was doing, and just sat there with her legs crossed, literally batting her eyelashes at Mycroft. She glanced over at Sherlock, and felt her heart flutter uncharacteristically against her chest. After the silence, Mycroft finally spoke. "Fine. She may join you on this case. But if anything suspicious occurs, or if she betrays you, then I will have her tried with utmost prejudice." Mycroft growled, turning back to his desk and texting something quickly. "There will be a car for the both of you outside." He hesitated for a moment. "And if you're interested, John has reservations at a restaurant tonight. I can text you the location, if you're interested in telling him that you're alive." He said, with a pointed look at Adriana, who frowned slightly.

Sherlock pushed back his chair as he stood, a smirk resting firmly on his face to his success. "Ah, and how is John?" he asked casually, darting about his eyes across the room in search for his coat. "And why does he have dinner reservations." he muttered mostly to himself. A delighted smile crossed his lips, as he strolled towards a door which opened to a large cupboard. Swinging it open, he spotted his coat and sighed a soft sigh of relief as he took it from the hanger and slid it on.

"Well." Mycroft replied, being vague on purpose. There was a possibility he could distract Sherlock from his near insane woman with John. He didn't want Sherlock to be near her, but there wasn't much point in telling him that. He wouldn't listen to Mycroft, even if he was saying something that Sherlock should really pay attention to. Adriana stood up as well, and glanced down at her body, and the lack of a coat. Ah, well. Perhaps she could just cuddle close to Sherlock while he walked, to piss off Mycroft. Or because she wanted to. Flashing the British Government a grin, she stood next to Sherlock and nuzzled her side into his, feeling a bit of warmth through her body from his coat. "Who's John?" She asked curiously, as they walked outside of the room.

"One of my very finest comrades." he replied. But he was more like the only one, in truth. Everyone else in London despised Sherlock; you know, if they weren't crazed 'fan girls' or paparazzi trying to find something new and somewhat interesting for today's society. He stole a glance to her fairly short body-compared to his- and wondered whether it would be appropriate to hold his hand around her very thin waist; he looked again, assessing her figure with his eyes. Sherlock, don't be stupid. Mycroft? He turned and looked over his shoulder before they left the building, narrowing his eyes to the voice inside his head.

Once they had removed themselves from Mycroft's sight, Adriana visibly relaxed- the man was rather frightening, though she would never say that aloud, and she kept feeling as if he was going to sic someone, or something, on her- and continued walking. There was a car waiting outside, black, with tinted windows. Adriana let out a huff of irritated breath. So incredibly cliché. "Interesting. And I'm guessing that he doesn't know that you're dead, and you're going to have to tell him that sometime soon?" She pressed her lips into a thin line, stepping into the car. "You are so going to get punched."

Sherlock strolled around to the other door, rolling his eyes and emitting a mere huff from his lips. "Punch me?" Despite John's background, he had never really struck Sherlock as the violent type. "Why on Earth would he do that?" he questioned, as he sat himself on the seat afar from her. Pulling shut the door, Sherlock gazed upon the streets of London, sighing slightly in relief as he smirked. _Home sweet home_, he thought.

Adriana let out a small chuckle and shook her head slightly. She may have been an antisocial outcast in school, but she wasn't totally inept with people. "You faked your death. People go through mourning, you know? If he was your best friend, or even just your friend, he's probably gone through, or is going through, denial, anger, bargaining, and depression. Acceptance takes ages- I would know. If I found out my Da had faked his death, and made me go through all of that, with no help, no hope..." She let out a small sigh. "I'd punch him."

When the car had ventured away from the street it was parked, Sherlock turned his gaze to Adriana, questioningly. "But wouldn't you be happy towards his return?" he muttered, slightly unsure whether he should've voiced his thoughts or not. He took a moment or two to comprehend the fact that people mourn. It was all very reckless, as it just prevented one from moving on. Because that's what they all wanted, right? They all had to, eventually. A memory of the day he had faked his death suddenly spiraled back to him- when he was stood, hidden behind a few trees as he watched John voice his melodramatic speech before Sherlock's gravestone- and he sighed. Was he a bad person for not feeling empathetic?

The period of denial that Adriana had gone through was much longer than she liked to admit. She had busied herself with revenge, and had acted as if by taking down people who had something to do with Moriarty would somehow bring him back. But it hadn't. And it wouldn't. "If my father returned, it would only make things worse. I've gone through the mourning and everything, and finally reached the point of acceptance, but if he came back, it would mean he would keep doing what he did before, getting in danger, meeting people who would kill him in a heartbeat, and he might die again, and I'd have to go through everything once more." She swallowed thickly. If he was to come back, he would probably be ashamed of her. Of what she had done in his name. "Er... never mind. Where are we going?"

His ears were open to every word she spoke, and Sherlock could gather some emotion behind them. Not that he'd understand the emotion, he never did, but from what he gathered he thought it best to just drop the topic. Maybe apologise for bringing it up? He remained still and silent as he abolished the theory completely. Apologizing would just express his feelings for her- and Sherlock wasn't completely aware of what he felt himself, so didn't intend on surprising himself any time soon; especially if it would be for the worst. "To my apartment, I believe." he turned his gaze away from her, and continued to allow his thoughts to whirl silently as he stared out of the car window.


	3. Chapter 3

**This chapter is mostly filler to establish more about characters, and you can skim it if you like/if you are lazy. **

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There was something inexplicably likable that Adriana found in Sherlock, other than the pristine curls, high cheekbones, and ever-changing eyes. Maybe it was his intelligence, a trait that was uncommonly found in people, or his wit and obdurateness. Though she also liked how he didn't fret about politeness, or worry about how people would respond to things he said. She hated having to deal with emotions, since they seemed so inescapable. But now, they were just ignored. Most people would be upset about it, but it made Adriana feel more open. Sherlock didn't seem like he was judging her whatsoever. "Your apartment?" She raised an eyebrow. "I expected a hotel or something."

Her reflection was clearly visible in the glass of the window he set his eyes upon. Sherlock unnoticeably continued to gaze upon her character as she spoke; all of his thoughts suddenly snapping on a halt. A few pins, and a card was easily noticeable if you silently assessed her for this long. The man admired that about her. The fact that she was stealthy, and went unnoticed; but at the same time she was vibrant and obvious. Was it her hair? Her personality? It took longer than usual to look away, and Sherlock felt overwhelmed in a sense, with vexation. Ever since he had laid his gorgeous eyes upon her, he had seemingly been unable to look away.

"Feel free to find yourself a hotel." he said, rather brusquely. Adriana Hartford. She was all he was thinking about now. No. The terrorists. They're more important. Focus on that. "I have some things to do, anyway." Today was the first day back, he thought. Go to things as normal-after revealing to everybody that you're not actually dead- and spend as little time with Adriana as possible. He seemed rather satisfied with his plans, not for one moment thinking that everybody would, indeed, hate him for his lies, and Adriana would probably end up being the only one there.

While checking into a hotel and tearing her mind off of the man whom she had escaped certain death by torture with sounded like an excellent idea, Adriana, having no personal records or form of identification, normally used her hacking and pickpocketing skills to buy clothing, weaponry, and domiciles. At the moment, she hadn't yet amassed her customary ring of scams- surprisingly, people still fall for the Ponzi scheme- and she needed a temporary residence. "Mm. I'm afraid I'll have to tag along for a bit. I'm assuming you have a computer, and I'll need to do a bit of... let's call it 'jumping through loopholes' to get a reservation at a hotel." She chuckled lightly.

Slightly saddened to a partially accepted offer of the hotel, Sherlock kept his well-structured face very still. "How long will it take?" he so rudely asked. Thinking that if he kept up the awful and obnoxious act towards Adriana, the mere trace of care he felt for her would dissolve into nothing. It would've all just been a misunderstanding. And he hoped that, in return, she would back off a little. Always trying to make conversation made it slightly harder for him to just see her as a normal, boring person who didn't interest him in the slightest.

Though her hacking skills were just a tad rusty, Adriana figured that she could easily bypass a hotel's website. She'd need to find one that didn't require you to call in to get a reservation, of course, and probably not somewhere incredibly fancy where they actually kept strict records of who had checked in. She would need a place with a kitchen, so a two-room kind of place. "The research will take about ten minutes, though I already have a place in mind, so cut that down to about six minutes... As for the hacking, a little under seven minutes and thirteen seconds. Not counting booting up your computer." She decided with a small smile, crossing her legs in the same prim, sarcastic way that she had before.

Very precise. Mh. Sherlock never appreciated of brief responses that were never well thought out; making hardly any sense. That's yet another thing to admire about Adriana, her explicit accuracy towards such things. "Shut up." He mumbled instantaneously, making the mistake of voicing part of the argument he'd silently been having with himself. The indignation he had felt that followed on from his thoughts of Adriana still loomed over his conscience as he remained sat in silence afterwards, hardly responding to his sudden outburst of fury. He glanced over to her once, curious as to how Adriana had responded- if she had heard him at all.

The car pulled up outside of 221B Baker Street- Sherlock's apartment. He hesitated to enter, sitting silently for a while. He began to ponder as to whether or not Mrs. Hudson was present- his landlady. Had she been one he had told already, that the death was to be fake? He easily forgot. Sherlock began racking his memories of any important information he may have accidentally abolished.

Raising a curious eyebrow, and presenting a slightly bewildered expression, Adriana (for once) followed his instructions and kept her lips pressed together in a frown. The odd and so far unexplained outburst hung in the air, and she decided that he was probably either in disbelief of her skills- which were amazing, of course- or in irritation of her constant sprouting of numbers. Or talking to himself, which could indicate a lack of inner monologue. Either way, she remained slightly skeptical of him throughout the remainder of the car ride.

Once the car had stopped, Adriana took a moment to look curiously at the location. Convenient spot regarding location, good area for restaurants, stable build and rather lovely looking. Though the windows were terribly unfortunate. A sniper on the opposite building could easily shoot someone standing at their currently curtain-covered panes. So nearly perfect. "Lovely place, Holmes." She decided, not mentioning the windows- because if someone did get shot by blatantly standing there and not noticing an assassin, that was just natural selection at work- and getting out of the car, making her way to the other side to wait for Sherlock to get out. She had been provided with heels, which she utterly despised. The woman reminded herself to grab a few credit cards the next time she was out so she could get a pair of proper combat boots.

After a frightfully long while of sitting through silence and deep in thought, Sherlock got himself out of the car and walked towards the door to his apartment. Sighing, Sherlock bowed his head and pinched the brim of his nose. Mycroft had obviously been here, probably to warn Mrs. Hudson of his return, just in case the woman had something along the lines of a heart attack. He was almost certain his brother had decided to pay a visit, as the knocker was straight on the door. He never left the knocker straight. Nor did John, nor did the landlady. Mycroft always did it because of his OCD. Doesn't even realise it, he thought with an irritated snicker. Now Sherlock had to completely refashion the greeting he had prepared, which went along the lines of "Hi." and strolling upstairs without another word. The man narrowed his eyes, inhaling slowly as he opened the door-fixing the knocker first, of course, so it was held to a slight angle- giving the woman beside him a somewhat fearful look.

"You're nervous." Adriana stated, noting the deep breath he took and general look of unease that he carried about him. And the knocker too- he had made it hang to the side. Some kind of weird ritual? She decided not to ask. What was he nervous about, though? Maybe about people's reaction to him not being dead. Particularly his best friend. "Look, what I said about getting punched... It was sort of more of a probably wrong prediction than something entirely accurate, okay?" She made a vague attempt to reassure him, though she doubted that he needed much reassurance. After all, he looked so confident any other time, and honestly, even when he was nervous and almost fearful, he still looked absolutely gorgeous. _Where did that come from?_

Having his torso half turned to Adriana, he took a long gander in her direction. What was she doing? Trying to comfort him? Sherlock chuckled slightly to the attempt, and nodded once. "I'm seeing John later on today." he turned his gaze back to the door, resting his hand firmly on the handle. "And I don't think he's in right now..." he muttered, tilting back his head and looking up towards the darkened windows above him. The possibility that John could've moved on and moved out didn't cross Sherlock's mind, not once. He flickered his eyes back to Adriana, beside him; running his eyes down her figure leisurely. When he caught himself doing so (again) he narrowed his eyes in slight shock, and turned his head sharply away, biting the inner of his bottom lip quite violently as a mere punishment. Finally, he pushed open the door and stood inside. He allowed his eyes to wander about the entrance slowly, and then towards the kitchen where Mrs. Hudson usually was. He could hear the radio faintly, and water spilling from the taps, implying that she was washing a few dishes. The man sighed heavily, before moving closer to the other door.

The amount of times those blue-green-silver eyes roved up and down her form was steadily growing, as was the blush on Adriana's cheeks at those attentions. Of course, she was returning them, but in the most discreet way she could, which included waiting for him to get through the door so that she could admire the back of him- _and damned if it wasn't something to admire, _she added to herself silently- before stepping inside of the landing and closing the door behind her. The flat was rather simple, though it also looked a bit worn down, as if it had been through far too much. She placed a hand on the wall, as if to comfort the flat. The sound of the door opening and closing had apparently been audible, however, and the door at the end of a hallway was pushed open, curiously and tentatively. An elderly woman stood at the entrance, suds covering halfway up her arms. Her face lit up as she saw Sherlock, and she picked up a dish towel to rub the suds off. "Oh, Sherlock, your brother stopped by today, and I could barely believe it when he said you were... oh, Sherlock, it's been ages!" She cooed, rushing forward to hug him, surprisingly lithe for an old woman. Adriana chuckled lightly, wondering if she was, perhaps, his mother. Who else would he let hug him like that?

Sherlock was unable to make it all the way down the hall, as the fairly old woman got to him surprisingly fast. She threw her arms around him and began to lightly sob. Since the man wasn't too clear on the whole 'emotion' thing, he awkwardly hugged her back; forcing a delighted smile to his lips. He chuckled merely, as he said "Ah, yes, yes Mrs. Hudson. I'm back!" Looking over her shoulder as he hugged her, he gazed through the open door and briefly examined the kitchen. "So, how're you and John?" He pulled away, holding the smile somewhat painfully. A saddened expression formed on Mrs. Hudson's face, and she sighed, wavering about her hands in the air as she spoke. "Oh, Sherlock. John doesn't live here anymore. He hardly visits after you...you know...But you're back now, and everything's fine! You know, he actually came to visit me a few weeks back. He's got himself a girl-" And the woman continued to talk on and on, as she always did. This was certainly nothing Sherlock had missed.

Standing with a bemused look on her face, Adriana studied the scene in front of her. Mrs. Hudson, she'd have to remember that. But who would call their mother by their formal name? Maybe she was the mother, or perhaps even grandmother, of whoever this John person was. Either way, she seemed very affectionate and lovely, or Adriana look a liking to her immediately. She found it rather amusing how Sherlock had obviously no idea how to act in such a situation, and how Mrs. Hudson was either ignoring this or just unaware. Stifling a laugh at the way she chattered on and how Sherlock seemed to be more than bored by it, she stepped forward and smiled. "Sorry to interrupt, but I need to borrow a lap top, and since you probably wouldn't keep a dead man's lap top lying about, would you mind telling me where it, or really, any computer, is?" She spoke in a surprisingly polite manner, and yet simultaneously seemed to carry her normal, cheery snarky-ness.

The both of them turned to her; one with a slightly irritated look for being interrupted, and the other with a slightly thankful one for the same reason. Mrs. Hudson glared up and down the woman before her with obvious curiosity. She began to wonder what on Earth Sherlock was doing with someone like herself. Noticing the vibrant colour of her hair, and the attire that didn't at all match, she then looked to Sherlock with a raised eyebrow before replying. She couldn't be his _girlfriend_, of course. Sherlock wasn't like that, Mrs. Hudson had always thought he was gay. "I don't think Sherlock ever owned a laptop. But luckily enough, John kept most of his things here before moving out. Including the laptop. It all brought back too many memories, bless him. The room is exactly as he left it. Nobody has really been in there since. Here, come and see!" The elderly woman budged past them both and hurried up the staircase. Sherlock followed her with his eyes, his lips resting in a firm line as he exhaled a short sigh from his nose.

Mrs. Hudson opened the door to an apartment on the second floor, which led into a fairly large living area. On the wall opposite her were two large arched windows with long dark and extremely dusty curtains covering them. She rushed over to them, the small specks of light shining through the cracks growing rapidly as she pulled the curtains open; coughing heavily as she waved about the dust which now lingered in the air.

Curious, Adriana began to poke around the room, taking careful steps on the rug and the wood underneath, eyes scanning every inch of it. She noticed a computer, and took note of it, though she was more interested in the dagger stuck in the mantelpiece in lieu of a paperweight, and the skull that sat next to it. How very curious, she mused, walking forward and studying the mandible-less object. "I used to have a cat skull, you know. But this is far more impressive." She smoothed a thumb over the bone and turned to look into the kitchen, where there appeared to be a large amount of scientific instruments and stacks of paper. For such a cryptic man, he had a very telling flat. "Thank you, Mrs. Hudson, was it? I'm Adriana Selene Hartford- it's wonderful to meet you." She gave a little curtsy, clutching the sides of her skirt and bending her knees.

Sherlock followed in after them both, being impressed as to how everything was how he had left it. Although, he didn't think there'd be as much dust. His eyes, stiff and emotionless now, ran over the apartment; and then they shot a look towards the girl so rudely poking about his belongings. She used to own a cat skull? Pfft, his was far better. "I know." he muttered, with a shrug. He walked over to the bookcase beside the windows, and ran his index finger along one shelf that was to his height; scraping off a thick layer of dust.

Mrs. Hudson, despite her recent thoughts towards the girl really approved of her manners and her attitude. "Oh, aren't you just lovely?" she said, gasping shortly in joy to her curtsy. "Pleasure to meet you, Adriana! Such a beautiful name, that. Isn't it?" The woman's rather worn out face lit up, as she turned towards Sherlock. After getting no response from him-just a mere glance-she continued on speaking about something else. "N'aw, ain't it lovely seeing you back here!" she then exclaimed. "I'll go make us all some tea, shall I?" The short lady walked over to the kitchen, and stopped, laughing rather loudly. "I think I'll use the one downstairs. It's like a flippin' science lab!" And without another word she hurried away.

Watching the old woman go, Adriana let out a little giggle, before quickly stifling it with her hand. Once she was gone, the young woman turned to Sherlock and placed her hands on her hips. "Tell me. How- I repeat, how- did you ever come to be so fondly treated by a kind old lady like her?" She asked, in an almost accusing tone, before dropping her hands and striding over to the desk. She picked up the laptop and pulled it under one arm, making her way over to the couch. "You don't seem like the type to be in a residence with an elderly woman. And she's certainly not your mother, or this John person's, so she's... what, your housekeeper?" Feeling rather proud of this process-of-elimination induced deduction, Adriana popped open the laptop and turned it on. It had been in sleep mode for a long time, apparently, and when she turned it on, she was faced with a website with a bright green banner at the top, reading 'The Personal Blog of John H Watson'. Raising an eyebrow, she repeated the title aloud. "What's this? It seems private. Belongs to your friend, I'm guessing." She murmured, scrolling down the page.

Rubbing the dust quickly from his index finger with his thumb, he casually shrugged his broad shoulders. "I helped the woman with something regarding her husband's death. And now she's my landlady." He looked over to her, curling his lips slightly into a smirk. "Slash housekeeper." He continued to watch her as she sat, and opened the fairly small laptop. To her question, he quickly came to the realization that it was John's blog. Sighing heavily, and hurrying towards her- as the blog held quite embarrassing and quite personal stories of Sherlock, that he wasn't willing to share just yet- he sat beside her, and snatched the laptop from her grip. With harsh one click, he deleted the tab. "It's nothing." He remarked falsely, with a rather perturbed tone.

Even though Sherlock had snatched the computer away, Adriana had still caught an entire entry of the blog, one that was shorter than the others. 'He was my best friend and I'll always believe in him'. Past tense. Yikes. She pressed her lips together and pretended to look chastened, though she was really working to install the URL permanently in her mind so she could go back and read some of the other things on there. Sherlock's demeanor suggested that he was mentioned on their several times, and she couldn't help but be curious. For now, though, she just let out a sigh and shrugged, then pulled the computer back onto her lap. "Fine. It's nothing." She shrugged and opened up a new tab, starting to search for a hotel. "How are you going to tell him you're alive?"

Although he had seen the title briefly, and gathered that John had written the blog about him _after_ his death Sherlock wasn't a bit curious. Allowing the laptop to be taken back, Sherlock took the few seconds given to contemplate on whether to sit back in the seat and get comfortable, or stand to be formal with Adriana. Sticking to a previous plan made, he stood and walked into the kitchen; emitting a long sigh from his mouth as he did so. He began moving his science equipment around to make the place look a bit tidier. Not really wanting to admit that he hadn't yet thought of how he'd break the good news to John, he did anyway. Hesitantly. "Mh... I'm haven't really put much thought into it." he lied. He had. Of course he had. It was all he'd think about while he could, whilst being imprisoned. He wanted his return to be rather memorable. Sherlock slid off his coat and scarf, and began searching for a place to put them.

It felt like ages since Adriana had done some proper hacking, and it felt rather like riding a bike, but instead of wheels and pedals, there were lines of code and her fingers dancing along the keyboard, greeting it as an old friend. "Mh..." She imitated his noise with a small grin. "I have a few tips for you. If you find yourself in costume- that includes disguises- you're doing something wrong. If gasoline plays any part in it, then you need to rethink your decisions. If you commandeer any sort of vessel, call me first. If you decide to hide somewhere that he's likely to pass by... I would say, check his medical records and see if he's ever had a heart attack before." She cracked her knuckles before continuing typing. "Oi, I need a fake name. Does 'Genevieve Summers' sound alright?" She asked, having easily bypassed the security on the site and now starting to work on getting somewhere with two rooms. Though she would be perfectly happy staying here, of course

As she was speaking, Sherlock headed down the small hallway and to his bedroom. He opened the door with a slight struggle, as the door had obviously been left shut for two years. Tossing his scarf and coat onto the bed, he darted his eyes about the room with a smirk on his lips. Hadn't changed one bit. Why, he never doubted that it would have. The man turned on his heel and closed the door behind him-he liked his privacy- and walked back to the kitchen. When returning, he looked around the partially broken corner- he had experienced various amounts of violence within this apartment, leaving mere damage to it as consequence- and arched an eyebrow towards her advice. Of course, he did keep it in mind; every word leaving her lips he could hardly ever forget. "Genevieve Summers?" he muttered in a mocking tone, as he turned back to tidying the kitchen.

"Yeah? What's wrong with that?" Adriana bristled and pushed the computer aside, trotting after him in an almost canine manner. "What, do you want me to use something like 'Jane Doe'? That's the most obvious thing in the world. And if I said something like 'Catalina Von Wintertine, people are totally going to know it's fake. So you find something in the middle. Elizabeth, or Jenny, and then you add something like Morris or something common." She shrugged and sat down on the edge of the table, and crossed her legs. It was a prim and sarcastically posh gesture that she seemed to have made her own. Smiling, Adriana watched the man strolling along and moving around the kitchen. She decided to drop the discreet act, and let her eyes scan him obviously.

Hearing her voice getting closer, Sherlock sighed in slight vexation. Tidying the kitchen was something he never did, so deciding to do it now was supposed to be helping him focus on something other than Adriana. He kept his back to her for as long as he could, but when realizing that there was nothing else that could be cleaned on this side of the room, he turned. "Well, Mrs. Summers," he began, sarcastically. Having turned to her, he could now see how she was sat and he could see her obviously gorgeous smile. He somewhat helplessly allowed his eyes to venture around her body. Inevitable, he thought sarcastically. Only noticing that he had a sentence to finish, he walked past her and began throwing any dirty cutlery into the sink; examining it thoroughly before hand. "Let's hope your American accent isn't too bad. Summers is a common surname in the USA, am I wrong?" Sherlock only hoped he wasn't, as he could never seem to think straight when being in her company.

It was almost cute, the way he seemed to get a bit anxious around her. Cute, of course, but entirely unexplained- after all, why would a genius with prodigious connections in the government be nervous around a vibrant, slightly insane, mildly demonic assassin? She honestly wondered if he was going to develop a tic or something. Thought of him twitching was a bit amusing, and she let out a little giggle, before realizing it sounded all too girlish for her, and he might think she was laughing at him. "You're seriously underestimating my language skills?" She asked in a thick American accent, a grin on her face. "I sound perfectly American!" She kicked off the shoes, which were much too... rich... for her, landing them in the center of the living room and letting her toes curl in the air. "I go to public school and eat French fries and wear jeans around with all of my cheer leader friends from college, before we all go to Starbucks and drink mocha lattes." She said in a quipping, high-pitched American-accented voice.

There was a large and rather abrupt _thud_ from the shoes as they met the ground, interrupting Sherlock's thoughts. The sound caused him to sharply turn his torso, searching for the source of which the noise came from. When his eyes gazed upon the shoes, he suddenly shot Adriana a curious look. Everything she did went completely unexpected. From the high level of informality- which was rather odd, as people who had once been acquainted with him would never be so open- to the various talents she had. In medics, being able to quickly assemble a plan when in the time of needing one, quick and snarky comments and being able to fake an identity. Rather perfectly, at that. He cracked a smirk, quite honestly impressed. "Mh. Alright, then." he responded, finally. The smirk wasn't too obvious, but it was also not as discreet as it could be. "Try not to be so stereotypical, though." he stated, desperately trying to flaw her; although he knew the whole thing was soaked in sarcasm.

Letting her eyes fall into an incredibly _her_ sort of eye roll, Adriana hopped off the table and padded back into the living room. "Sense of humor, Holmes! I was kidding." She pressed her lips into a thin line and paused, turning back around to glance at him. "If I wanted to be really stereotypical, though..." She grinned again, toothy and wide, then began talking in a brash, almost vile, Southern American accent. "Let me tell ya, buster, if you so much as look at an American flag funny, I'll sue you to Hell and back, then back again, because that's where you'll be going anyways for not believin' in our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. And gays and abortions are ruining life for all of us, and marijuana is a gateway drug! Ya flag burning Muslim." She pronounced loudly, before laughing and taking her place back on the couch, hoping she hadn't scared him too horribly with her accent and somewhat racist comments. Though she had always had a flare for being noisy.

Emitting a short yet somewhat silent sigh of relief from his lips as she walked away, he turned his attention back to the sink before him. However, Sherlock's ears lit up as she continued to speak, in another ghastly accent. One he really couldn't stand. "Fine!" he turned to her, and rose his hands in surrender. "Okay. Alright! I may have doubted your skill in...accents." Desperation flickered in his eyes, as he dropped his hands to his side heavily. "Please stop." Although he found it remarkably humorous and amusing, the way Adriana had expressed his hate for their patriotic ways in a few sentences, he still glared at her with annoyance.

Emitting a short yet somewhat silent sigh of relief from his lips as she walked away, he turned his attention back to the sink before him. However, Sherlock's ears lit up as she continued to speak, in another ghastly accent. One he really couldn't stand. "Fine!" he turned to her, and rose his hands in surrender. "Okay. Alright! I may have doubted your skill in...accents." Desperation flickered in his eyes, as he dropped his hands to his side heavily. "Please stop." Although he found it remarkably humorous and amusing, the way Adriana had expressed his hate for their patriotic ways in a few sentences, he still glared at her with annoyance.

Resisting the urge to call Sherlock a flag burning Muslim again, Adriana settled for giggling and rearranged herself in the chair nearest to the kitchen- it seemed much more sat in and comfortable than the other one- replacing the laptop on her legs and tapping away. "Genevieve Summers it is. Ooh, or what about Sabrina McQueen? God, I love coming up with fake names." She hummed and continued tapping away, hoping she could finish before she became too fond of the flat. It was hard not too, though- cluttered, but not crowded, smelled like chemicals and a yet also like fresh linen or pine trees.

The man turned back to the sink, every now and then glancing to Adriana with thick amusement in his eyes. "You're the expert." he mumbled, continuing on with his chore. As she was sat in John's chair, he continued to assemble some sort of plan that he could follow when speaking with John later on. However, every so often he'd be distracted by the loud typing that she did, or the thinking aloud. Happily distracted, of course. Just not realizing it.

There were footsteps heading up the staircase, and Mrs. Hudson walked through the door with a tray of tea. She gasped- in a way that was too melodramatic for Sherlock- as she glared to him with wide eyes. "Oh, Sherlock. Are you washing the dishes? My, you've come back as a different man. Are you feeling alright?" she laughed, walking into the living area after seeing not enough space on the table in the kitchen to place down the tray. The lady placed down the tray on the smaller table beside Adriana, instead.

Smiling up at Mrs. Hudson- it was very hard not to like her, Adriana decided, and she wouldn't bother to try- Adriana eased the laptop of off her and set it on the ground next to the chair. She didn't feel very pressured to leave, anyways, and the atmosphere in here was rather cheery and comfortable. Besides, there was tea, and Adriana would be very willing to drop everything for a good cuppa at the moment. She placed four cubes of sugar in a cup, murmuring a few light words of gratuity to Mrs. Hudson as she did and stirring it thoroughly.

As she drank the warm liquid, Adriana took another moment to look around the area. While Sherlock wasn't as much of an open book as she was, his flat and Mrs. Hudson's comments were quite revealing. The alphabetized bookshelf may have suggested OCD, but the cluttered paper and stacks of random materials decided that he was more of an 'organized chaos' sort of person. Probably didn't like having something new to deal with and organize- e.g. her- but he didn't show it. Stifled emotions? Maybe. She sighed. She was rubbish at analyzing.

Sherlock walked over to them both, taking a small cup and pouring himself some tea. Nothing much in the conversation caught his attention, not even the in depth mention of John and... Mary, was it? His new girlfriend? Sherlock dropped the spoon beside the teapot, and rose his hand over the petite bowl of sugar cubes. Something was odd. After a short mental calculation of the usual amount of sugar cubes, plus a few more on top in need for their guest, Sherlock had come to the realization that Adriana had taken four. In doubt, he looked down to her tea and noticed the thicker consistency which differed from the others. Mrs. Hudson doesn't take any. Sherlock usually took four. Two was too little, and six was too much. And he never approved of odd numbers. Sherlock hesitated, removing his hands and taking a small sip from his sugarless tea. No matter how small the detail, he refused to have anything in common with Adriana. Or anyone, really.

Sherlock moved across the room after muttering a short "Thank you, Mrs. Hudson" for the tea. Walking over to the desk beside the window, he began to arrange some sheets of paper with one hand, as he still held a cup in the other. Mrs. Hudson looked back to Adriana with a stupefied expression. "He never thanks me." she whispered. Her expression melted into a delighted smile.

With the laptop out of sight, Adriana found that she was drawn slightly more to Sherlock, and watched him with an unrestrained curiousness. His movements were very graceful and fluid, but were executed with a sort of determined purposefulness. She tilted her head to the side slightly, chewing on her lower lip, suddenly an entirely different person than the primly sitting, American mocking girl from the kitchen. She ran a hand through her already tangled hair, dislodging a paperclip that she directed into her back pocket. After a moment of staring at Sherlock with a hand in her hair, teeth on her lower lip, and legs tucked underneath her, she cleared her throat and shook her head slightly, resuming her normal position and turning to smile at Mrs. Hudson. "Oh? Well, isn't that wonderful?" She sighed. A small part of her wondered if Sherlock would allow her to stay here. But that was ridiculous- she was just a trivial part of his work.

Mrs. Hudson may have been a fairly lonely old woman, feeble and frail but she certainly wasn't ignorant. She noticed the way this girl looked to Sherlock, and reflected the same sigh as Adriana. "It is." She remarked, suddenly quiet now. Sherlock brought the tea again to his lips, and turned his head to Mrs. Hudson. "Just to clarify, you- nor John, nor Mycroft- have touched a thing in here since I've been away?" The old lady shook head slowly. "Nope, no one. Why is there something missing?" Sherlock remained silent, turning away from her after getting the answer he was in want for, and he continued to move aside papers. Mrs. Hudson sighed again, and turned to Adriana. "Well, I must be off. Still got an awful lot of cleaning to do! It was lovely meeting you, dear!" she smiled before giving Sherlock another glare and then leaving the room.

Adriana smiled at the retreating old woman, before turning back to Sherlock, chewing on her lower lip again. She took another sip of tea- ah, lovely and sugary, she thought, half-closing her eyes. It had been ages since she had had a nice cup of tea, and Mrs. Hudson clearly knew how to make one. Settling back down in the chair, Adriana decided not to make a move to pick up the laptop, just to show where her priorities were at- leaving didn't seem like a very good idea at the time- and crossed her legs at the ankles. She frowned down at the posh skirt, making a mental note to go out and get some proper clothes. Leggings and a denim skirt, or maybe some kind of colourful skinny jeans, not this fancy rubbish. "So, is something missing?" She asked after a moment, pursing her lips and looking curiously at Sherlock.

Flickering his eyes over to her momentarily, and silently disapproving of the repeated question- telling her would show favoritism- Sherlock turned his back to Adriana and gazed upon Baker Street through one of the windows. He shoved a hand into one of his trouser pockets, before taking another long sip from the tea; which tasted painfully plain and dry without the sugar. Finally, he replied. But only briefly. "No." Again, he managed to spot her reflection in the window, finding himself staring at her ruefully. It wasn't something he could deny at this point- he really did find an interest in her. But he'd never voice it.

Brief answers could be ever so irritating, but this man was rather irritating in general. Though that was, she supposed, one of the things that she liked about him so much. His tenacity, derisiveness, and attitude was a nice change from the usual, and she liked it. Though she wouldn't be informing him of that. Rolling her eyes, Adriana ran a hand through her hair again, feeling nervous once more. She suddenly realized she was chewing on her lip again- when had she developed that nervous tic? - And let her teeth drop from her lips. "Er, if the bit about the hotel doesn't work... would it be possible for me to hang around, would it?" She asked, then blushed a little. She didn't tend to be shy, as was fairly clear, but for some reason, she now felt rather coy.

It struck Sherlock as rather odd, as he thought Adriana to be quite determined to leave. However, he noticed the indiscreet chewing of her lower lip which usually suggest nervousness. But she didn't strike him as the _nervous _type. Far from it actually. God, she was a hard one to read. Something very minute inside of him felt pleasure in hearing the offer, he'd gladly accept, in hope that no hotel would be available for at least a week or so; so he'd get the time to de-complicate her character. He sighed in the faintest way, realizing that, this was only part of the reason he wanted her to stay. It was obvious he was in denial. Obvious only to himself, though. The man turned to face her, in want of questioning why on Earth a hotel wouldn't _work_. But needless to say he feared she'd have an answer, so he muttered "Sure." hiding the delight the best he could.

It was rather difficult to hide the way that her face brightened at the prospect of staying here, though she did her utmost and decided to go with a curt smile. "Thanks. It's very kind of you." She said, knowing that cold etiquette was a rather good way to conceal her own joy. Rather aggravatingly, however, there was the slightest of smiles pulling at her cheekbones and her eyes had a sort of brightness to them as well. She loosened the smile a bit- this flat could use a bit of warmth, after all, since it was clear that no one had given it proper care in ages- before clearing her throat and picking up the laptop again. "Just in case, of course. I'd prefer not to discomfort you until it's absolutely necessary." She added.

"Yes." The man muttered, as he brought the liquid to his lips. He narrowed his eyes, and swallowed his nerves quickly so he could respond better. "Yes, alright." Sherlock thought those nerves had been abolished, but clearly not. Strolling over to the seat Adriana was sitting upon, he placed down the rather tiny tea cup back to the tray; leaning over the chair only slightly, as he looked to the laptop screen with curiousness. "You'd have to be able to tolerate a bit of violin playing. I do that while I think. And I think a lot." he stated, walking back over to the kitchen- although there was nothing much else to clean. Having mentioned the violin, she was sure to leave. Everyone hated the violin. 3am in the morning, waking everybody from their slumber. If Sherlock could not find anything to remotely despise in this woman, then he'd have to openly flaw himself. As much as he adored the idea, he refused to get attached. She had to leave willingly.

Glancing upwards at the detective, Adriana smiled and closed the lid of the laptop, disliking the feeling of having someone over her shoulder, though smiling because it was Sherlock. "Violin?" She repeated, intrigued. Despite her fondness towards Joan Jett, Pat Benetar, Pink, and The Who, she sometimes indulged in Vivaldi or Rossini, and figured that a bit of classical music wouldn't be too irritating. And again, it was Sherlock playing. "I suppose that's agreeable. Sometimes I hum television show theme songs to myself, so you might have to deal with that. And I've been known to sing at great length when I get bored." She grinned. "I'm no Prima Donna, but I'm not terrible either."

_Alright_, he thought sharply. One night wouldn't do any harm. But no one could tolerate Sherlock Holmes for a day. Personally, he was surprised she still lingered about, not at all effected by his foul manner. And the man wasn't a big fan of humming either, nor singing. It was highly off putting and irritable, but he'd settle for it. "And I have a tendency to shoot walls when I'm bored." He added, slowly leaving the kitchen again. Although he only ever rarely did that. Keeping his eyes on her, he walked over to the bookcase; so desperately wanting some sort of negative response.

Nodding slowly, Adriana glanced towards the wall peppered with bullet holes and decorated with a large yellow smiley face. She couldn't resist a little laugh, and covered her mouth with her hand to stifle anything further. "You know, I never thought I would ever meet someone else who does that. Though in my case, I prefer to use darts and arrows, since they're much easier to retrieve. I did fire a .44 into the ceiling once, but I lost my apartment for that." She laughed again. "Mrs. Hudson must be such a patient woman."

His gaze kept flinty upon her, he arched an eyebrow. Was she being truthful? Why, she was. Sherlock saw nothing noteworthy to detect lies. Slowly, he turned his gaze to the wall and emitted a short sigh from his lips. On top of yet another thing they had in common, needless to say he was impressed. Greatly. It was awful. "I suppose so." he agreed. Patience wasn't something he noticed much when it came to Mrs. Hudson, predominantly because he was an overall ignorant man towards anyone who seemed never of much importance. Ironically, when he focused upon somebody who did interest him- Adriana- he could gather nothing. Dismissive to his thoughts, he shot Adriana a look of bemusement. "No hotels then?" he asked, noting the laptop and how it was no longer in use.

Following his gaze, Adriana turned to look at the laptop. Ah, right, she was meant to be hacking. Though honestly, her mind felt rather fuzzy and she didn't quite feel like researching or hacking at the moment. That fact was slightly embarrassing, however, and she decided not to actually mention that fact, particularly to someone like Sherlock. She yawned, sounding somewhat like Chewbacca- though in an oddly cute way- and shrugged a little bit. "None that meet my needs, unfortunately. I'll keep looking." She moved the laptop to the side and tucked her legs up to her chest, then rested her head between her knees and looked curiously at him. "Frankly, I'm still interested in the emotional, dramatic roller coaster that is your relationship with your former flat mate. When are you going to go see him?"

Studying her silently- her small and somewhat adorable yawn, the way she made herself easily comfortable in his own apartment, and asked many questions- Sherlock inhaled slowly through his nose, resting his lips in a firm line. Glancing to the door every so often, he tried his upmost best to stay formal with Adriana in case he got distracted, and his brother again appeared in the scene; sharing unwanted comments and many a skeptical glare. Sherlock really did try hard to resist settling and becoming comfortable in her company, but her presence was just so welcoming. And so he flashed a smile toward the comment about the hotels, remarking that her standards were set high. "I don't know. I'm still unsure of what to do." he admitted, after a short and merely helpless sigh.

That was a bit surprising- Sherlock seemed like the sort of person to plan everything down to the picosecond. "Oh?" She raised an eyebrow and wrapped her arms around her legs, still studying him curiously, but not intently. He seemed to carry a general sort of stroppiness about him, but Adriana was getting sort of fond of it. Maybe that wasn't a good thing, though, she thought, pressing her lips together into a thin line, brow creasing. How long had it been since she had fancied anyone, or been fond of someone? Ages, probably. Not since school days. She hadn't exactly had time to be in a non-Mata Hari sort of relationship in the past several years, anyways. Now, though... Nah, definitely not Sherlock. He didn't seem the relationship type, and honestly, neither was she. It was a schoolgirl crush, she could get over it. "Well, you know, if you need any advice, I'm right here with very useful tips." She chewed on her lower lip for a moment, before realizing what she was doing and stopping immediately. "Maybe that pompous brother of yours could tell him. I mean, it's not ideal, but it definitely decreases the chances of you getting punched."

The brief and faint smile slowly dissolved from his lips, and he wavered about a hand in hardly hesitant objection. "No. Certainly not." Sherlock held bit of a grudge over Mycroft, knowing that he was in Serbia the same time as he, and obviously didn't hurry to rescue him. The pain and torture he had to endure was imaginable. "I don't wish to speak with my brother any more than I have to." he sighed, his mind too caught up with the whole subject now to notice the way Adriana had seemed to be staring at him. "I'll just have to tell John myself." After a short while of silence and contemplation, he continued. "He wouldn't _punch_ me." Flickering his eyes to her curiously- as Adriana had seemed to be better at understanding emotions- he questioned the fact. "Would he?"

Adriana decided to go with a simple shrug. "I don't know the guy." She drummed her fingers on her shins and glanced around the room, suddenly full of nervous energy. She didn't like sitting still for long periods of time, not after everything how long she had had to sit still in Serbia. She hopped up and smoothed down the irritating businesswoman clothes that she had on. "I mean, he's definitely going to be mad." She reasoned, shifting her weight from foot to foot. She couldn't quite imagine someone punching Sherlock. Well, scratch that- she could imagine it. But she doubted that anyone actually would, him being so cute and all. _God dammit, woman. _"Right, well, I seriously need to get something new to wear. Your brother has no sense of style whatsoever. Mind if I leave for a bit? I'll be just an hour or so." It was a strange sort of instinct of hers to say something like that, in case she didn't return.

All of Sherlock's worries were suddenly put on pause when Adriana stood. The rather sudden outburst of adrenaline that seemed to now be running through her veins, left Sherlock quite curious and confused. _Yet again_. Tilting his head slightly to the side, he slid his eyes down her body to her feet; noticing how she didn't stand still for one dreaded moment. He was about to part his lips, and question her wellbeing before she then continued. "Ah-" Sherlock narrowed his eyes, resisting to keep her here. Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing. _Of course it wouldn't_. She'd be gone. At least momentarily. He sighed, and nodded once in acceptance. "Oh, Alright." His lips revealed a faint smile before he turned his focus back to the bookcase. Seemingly. The man was in deep contemplation of his plans for John again, and every other minute his thoughts would be interrupted by another curious presumption to do with Adriana. If she returned with new clothes, it would surely reveal more about her character. And Sherlock wouldn't be so helplessly clueless.

Pausing at his slight hesitation, Adriana quirked another eyebrow, then smiled at his affirmation. She bent down and pulled on her shoes, yawning again. "Wonderful, then. Maybe I'll find something tight enough that there won't be such long pauses in the times you look at me." She said over her shoulder to him, then grinned broadly before promptly blushing and hurrying outside, wondering how she could have said something like that. Though it was rather _her_. Resisting a very school girlish squeal- though this was a very juvenile crush, perhaps she shouldn't resist such a noise- she hurried outside and caught a cab, though she first snagged someone's wallet from their back pocket and tucked it in the inside pocket of her jacket.

His thoughts were again abruptly stopped, as his eyes widened only slightly in shock. Maybe Adriana was just as observant as he, or he wasn't a discreet as thought. Either way it was utterly embarrassing. Sherlock remained glaring at the bookcase with emotionless eyes until she left, feeling highly uncomfortable. How on Earth was he supposed to act when she was to return? Running his fingers through the dark locks of his hair, from front to back slowly he sighed. _Right, better devise a plan. For John, yes. John is... _His gaze drifted over to the door, and then he snapped his head quickly to the window; stopping himself from walking over to see her leave._ John is important._ Sherlock coughed awkwardly in the silence before seating himself on his chair, and slapping together the palms of his hands, putting his brain at work. _So a disguise wouldn't work_. He stopped there. Already he was taking Adriana's advice. But why? In frustration, he leaned forwards and hid his face with his hands. Such a simple plan, taking a very long while to assemble.

After a brief- the connotations of 'brief' must be extended quite thoroughly in this case, as Adriana utterly despised shopping, mainly because of the security cameras, scanners, guards, and the anorexic crowd that spent the majority of their time making attempts towards skinny jeans- trip out, wherein the young woman decided to get rid of the outfit provided entirely and change into something more comfortable and lasting, she returned to 221 B. It felt a bit odd to be telling the cabbie an actual address instead of a drop site or random warehouse. While watching London go by, she glanced down at herself, feeling much more comfortable. Combat boots, jean shorts over black leggings, accompanied by a dark red 3/4 sleeved shirt and black denim jacket were definitely superior to anything Mycroft could have provided. She also had decided on a pair of small black hoop earrings and a somewhat matching choker necklace. With her, she only carried a small brown leather backpack with the essentials in it- toiletries, phone, stolen wallets, handgun...- which was now sitting on the seat next to her.

She felt a rather lovely burst of familiarity at the sight of the flat, and quickly paid the cabbie with some crumpled bills that she fished out of her backpack. Picking up the bag and feeling her firearm dip heavily into one side of it, she hurried to the door and knocked, since she had no key.

The process of assembling a logical plan to express Sherlock's resurrection took what had felt like days, if not weeks. When he finally looked up from his hands and over to the kitchen- not having any trace of an idea in his mind, still- he scowled at nothing as he continued to contemplate. Alright, enough thinking of Adriana, he thought sharply to himself. What good would it do sitting there and thinking about her beautifully soft laughter, her thrilling and enchanting smile and her compellingly unaccountable personality? There seemed to be a pause in time, and for a while everything was silent._ None, _he assured himself. _No good at all_._ For God's sake man, pull yourself together_. Sherlock instantaneously returned to his feet, running both hands now through his hair. A short while after, he hurried over to his violin case- which was, unsurprisingly right where he left it- and snapped it open. As the top of the case lifted back, dust seemed to explode in the air; yet Sherlock didn't hesitate to grab the instrument and the bow. He turned on his heel and began to play a soft and charming melody which broke the silence, letting his brain calm and his thoughts fall into place. The sophisticated music he produced within this time was nothing to express his emotions, as they were all in one tangled heap.

Suddenly, there were a few knocks on the door which interrupted his thoughts. Sherlock clenched his jaw, and ran the bow slowly down the strings creating a harsh and foul sound. When the knocking continued, a "Mrs. Hudson! Answer the _damn door_!" followed. And, as demanded, Mrs. Hudson hurried from the kitchen and over to the front door where she opened it and smiled apologetically to Adriana. "Sorry, I didn't hear you love. He's upstairs.

For some odd reason, Adriana found herself not expecting Sherlock to come and answer the door. He seemed more the sort to yell 'it's open' or to get someone else to do it instead of spending his time on something so trivial. So she wasn't surprised when the charming face of Mrs. Hudson appeared at the door, nor was she very bothered. The elderly woman seemed very much like some kind of godsend motherly replacement in Adriana's life, and most likely Sherlock's as well, and Adriana beamed at the comforting sight of her. "Oh, its fine, I assure you. No need for apology." She stepped inside of the flat for the second time that day, and glanced around at the swirling dust motes. Following the landlady's instruction, Adriana hurried up the steps, adjusting her bag and smoothing down the clothing she'd acquired. Some part of her hoped she looked alright. Another part of her rolled its eyes at her other part and said that she really needed to rethink her priorities. She almost didn't count the stairs- there were 16, which was a perfect square, which Adriana loved- but she focused her mind back on reality and not the odd, flirtatious part of her mind that had sprouted so recently.

As she stepped into the living room, she was about to speak- something along the lines of inquiring for his opinion on her outfit, and whether or not she should do a spin to show him the full effect- when she noticed that he had a violin in the crook of his arm, part of it resting beneath his chin. She found herself without words, not wanting to interrupt him, and decided on cleaning up the tea that was now most likely col in order to occupy herself. She tossed her bag into the chair she had occupied before and picked up the tray, carrying it into the kitchen and setting it next to the sink. She rather hoped he would play something. Hopefully something she wasn't familiar with, since she was loath to hear something she'd already heard a million times. Repetition got old much too quickly for her, and she had always preferred new and exciting things to old, but familiar things.

No longer pacing about the room, Sherlock was stood still looking out from one of the large windows as he continued with his music. Despite his previous frustration the melody had the tonality of major, seeming bright and happy. Whilst playing, Sherlock had briefly wondered who was heading up the staircase. Obviously, Adriana was the first name that came to mind and he sighed heavily- despite being correct at first guess, he just somehow wished that a part of him wasn't so hopeful to be in her company. Only the outline of her figure was visible in the glass, as the sun shone brighter from the clouds causing him to squint his eyes. Sherlock silently took note of how long it had taken her to venture to the apartment from the entrance. He stopped playing, and dropped both hands to his side as he turned to face her- half expecting her to make some sarcastic and mocking comment on her new outfit. As there was nothing- and Sherlock just ended up standing there, glaring at her attentively- he also decided to remain silent. It was as though a completely different person from the one who had left earlier had returned. From her new clothing, he could gather more; which he was _oh, so pleased about_. 'Twas hardly anything new, though. The boots indicated unsophisticated seriousness from the fashion, but they were something you could easily get about in; implying that she did, indeed move a lot. Perhaps run. From trouble? The leggings with shorts told him that she wasn't in need of impressing anyone, however the colour-matching accessories told him otherwise. And finally the shirt- not too cheap, not too expensive. Not too obvious. Where did she get the money? Flickering his eyes to the bag, and noticing the mere crease from one strap he could easily perceive that it was heavy; within it she held a fair amount of things. Soon he came to the conclusion that the money was stolen. Of course. Why not? By now, she had seemed to transport to the kitchen without him noticing. "Welcome back." he murmured, turning again to the window and continuing with the song.

Though Adriana's appreciation for music, particularly classical, was not exactly fine-tuned. She hadn't had much time for listening to music, anyways. However this... this was something much different than what she normally heard. It was entrancing, and seemed to flow through her ears as smoothly and gently as water through a well-worn river bed. Blinking a few times in slight surprise, she turned to look into the living room, at Sherlock standing there and playing his violin. _Surely, that amazing noise couldn't be coming from him, _she thought, furrowing her brow. It was truly amazing, and she found herself feeling terribly inadequate, as the best she could play was percussion- what could she say? Hitting stuff was her passion. She chewed on her lower lip for a moment, and then walked forward and took her place in the armchair, pushing the bag onto the ground. Though she didn't want to admit to it, she was rather gazing at Sherlock as he played. How could such wickedly enticing sounds be produced from something made of wood and string? She closed her eyes after a moment, taking a moment to simply listen. The young woman decided not to speak whatsoever, afraid of breaking the spell that had been cast over the living room.

The fluent and arousing music smoothing against each of their ears slowly came to a stop. Sherlock was using this time now, to question why she was so silent; usually being energetic and lively. Stroking the bow over the strings delicately, and holding it gently to an angle he concluded the piece. Though his thoughts still spiraled, again being in her company. Running an index finger along the curves of the instrument, Sherlock smiled slightly. This was probably the thing he missed most. It brought peace to him. At least momentarily. Sherlock decided to return the instrument to the case, and turned to walk across the room to do so. As he packed it away, he parted his lips and hesitated to speak aloud- the hesitation unnoticed as he wasn't facing Adriana, so all she had to stare at was his back. After a while of standing and gazing upon his most treasured possession, he turned and noticed the woman sat in a seat without a trace of discomfort. _Quick, think of something to say before the moment gets awkward. _Sherlock briefly glanced to the floor when realizing there was nothing he _could_ say, or even _had_ to, and he walked over to the kitchen. In a few simple steps, he filled the kettle with water and flicked on the switch to boil it; although he wasn't thirsty.

Quite honestly, Adriana found herself stunned, sitting in the chair and thinking over the music. It still seemed to ring in her ears, and yet she couldn't quite summon up the tune. She twisted in the chair, and moved so she was sitting on her knees, looking over the back at Sherlock moving about in such a normal fashion. "You're... " She pressed her lips together into a thin line, pondering how to continue that sentence. Gorgeous? A virtuoso? A genius? All of the above, quite frankly. But he had to be terribly used to hearing compliments, and she didn't want to be just like everyone in the world. It was practically her mission statement to be different. "Not as good as Bonham." She said with a broad smirk, sitting herself down again. She fished into her bag and pulled out the gun, setting to work with dismantling it, cleaning it, and putting it together again. She always needed a nice bonding period with her guns- she preferred to get close to them instead of just picking up a random one and firing it off.

_Well that was new_, he thought. But then again, he wouldn't expect anything else from Adriana. She made everything somewhat unforeseen. When he was sure she had turned away from him, only then did he smile. His smile was brief, and melted away at a moderate pace; but nevertheless he had smiled. _Bonham_ wasn't somebody he was aware of. The name came of no familiarity to musicians in which he quite adored- he never really paid attention to anything that didn't interest him. Obviously. He glanced over to her, and he began to ponder whether or not she was one to participate in music. What instrument would she play? Sherlock snickered merely, as 'drums' appeared to his head for an answer. Quite obvious, really. Although the guess was rough, and he didn't voice it. By this time, the kettle had boiled, and Sherlock turned his attention to that with a sigh. He prepared a mug with a teabag and some milk to the side, before pouring in the water. "Well..." he began. Was that a compliment? Does he thank her? A "Hmph." escaped his lips with no warning, to response.

Chuckling at the noise and the general lack of response- Adriana pondered why she had even considered that he would know who John Bonham was- she picked up the laptop again and flipped it open, deciding to check up on current affairs. Being taken out of the world for a month certainly put one out of the loop. As she started to go to the usual news sites- The Guardian was generally good, though some of the American sites were alright- a thought struck her. "Hey, if you're still having trouble with the whole coming out of the coffin thing, I could always look up your friend's social networking crap. Everyone has a Facebook or twitter or something ridiculously telling of their life and character nowadays." She called into the kitchen. "I could find out what they're like, and what they might freak out about, or not freak out about." She smiled. "So, what's his name?" She asked, fingers flying over the keyboard.

Strolling into the living area with a mug in his hand and his eyes narrowed slightly, Sherlock was silently questioning why Adriana wanted to help- and why John would've changed at all. Given him being Sherlock's only friend, he had always stuck with the fact that John was always going to be John. And Sherlock knew John. Why did he have to learn about him again?-the internet wasn't of much use to him anyway. Ever. The man towered over the chair she was sat upon, looking down to the laptop screen with doubt in his eyes. "I don't think..." he sighed, bringing the mug to his lips. Shoving a free hand into one of his trouser pockets, he began to silently ponder all that he felt unsure of. And, as ever, it all got a bit much- so the contemplation didn't last very long. "I don't think that it will help." Everyone on the internet wanted _something_, anyhow. That's why he didn't trust absurd nonsense on social media, he didn't even trust blogs. Especially John's. He had the tendency to make everything a bit too melodramatic.

"It was John-something-or-other, right?" Adriana asked, furrowing her brow, trying to recall the name of the blog that she had stumbled upon. "John H Watson- that was it!" She typed it into the search, and the first thing that came up was his blog- but she decided not to go there, since Sherlock hadn't approved the last time she had, and she moved onto looking through the various Facebook accounts. "If it doesn't help you, then it'll help me. I mean, I'm going to have to get ice packs by judging the size of his fist, right?" She teased, finally finding one that matched the picture from the blog. She started to scan through his feed- boring stuff about life and the regular stuff- looking up at Sherlock as she did so. "No tea for me? Manners, Sherl." She joked, turning back to the screen. On it was a picture that, if she had had tea, she would have spit it out. It was one of John and his presumed girlfriend, who... "Oh my God... Aggie?!" She exclaimed, looking actually distressed for a moment. She studied the picture closer. That was her. It was definitely her.

After rolling his eyes to Adriana's previous remark about getting punched (again) Sherlock strolled past her and took the seat opposite. He sat as he usually did in his seat; arms rested comfortably against those of the chair, legs crossed by the knee with his posture still straight. Bringing the mug to his lips, and as he drank, he continued to watch Adriana as she typed away- beginning to wonder if she had stumbled upon John's blog again. By the laughter and smirks she failed to present, he supposed she didn't. When she glanced up, Sherlock awkwardly flickered his eyes over to the kitchen; not being entirely sure why, as he hadn't really been staring for that long. His ears perked up to the little nickname she gave him: "Sherl." _Sherl? _The detective smirked a little inside, before again glaring back to her. Sherlock's eyes narrowed, as he sat in silence and waited for Adriana to explain who this _Aggie_ was. But wasn't she searching information about John? He thought. Maybe she was one of his past girlfriends- Sherlock wouldn't be one to know, as he was terrible with _those_ names. "Who?" he questioned, finally. If it was one of John's past girlfriends, he was still curious as to how Adriana knew her.

Not quite purposefully, Adriana didn't answer his question, or at least, not for a while. She was far too busy investigating this person who was either a look-alike, or Agra under some kind of new identity. The latter was most likely- after all, what kind of a name was 'Mary Morstan'? She flicked past pictures of John and 'Mary', all of which made it fairly obvious that they were together, and that John had absolutely no idea who 'Mary' really was. Taking a deep breath, Adriana finally looked up from the computer screen. "I was doing some work back in Somalia a few years ago, and I had to snipe this guy. I hate sniping because you have to stay motionless for _ages_ and I just don't do that, but I still managed, because he was the leader of a drug running triad that was very closely related to Moriarty's web of crime. Anyways, I was up in this construction site area, way up on top, and I had my sights on this guy, and then all of a sudden, someone else shot him." She stretched, cracking out kinks in her back and arms. "So I turned my sights to where the shot had come from, and there's Aggie, only, I didn't know her back then. I was kinda mad, but also sort of curious as to why she was shooting my target, so I went to talk to her. Neither of us would share our real names, and since both of our initials are acronyms, I went as Ash, and she went as Agra. I just called her Aggie. Turns out that someone paid her to shoot this guy, didn't tell her the reasons. She seemed really cool, though..." Pressing her lips into a thin line, she studied the page closer. "So I'm not sure why she's dating your former flat mate/best friend under the name Mary Morstan."

It was found quite hard to keep up with Adriana's words- never had a person spoken at this pace before, nor had their words been at all interesting. But this was rather intriguing. Showing his interest, Sherlock leaned forwards slightly as she spoke. The following ran through his mind: John knows this character as Mary. Adriana knows this character as Aggie. _Aggie? What sort of name is that? _He brushed his opinion aside as he continued to comprehend her words. Anyway. Sherlock... Sherlock knows this character as...Well, John's New Girlfriend. The liar, presumably. She had no reason to tell John the truth as far as Sherlock was aware. The man stood, after resting his mug on the floor beside his feet, and made his way over to Adriana. He took a seat on the arm of the chair, and looked at the pictures on the screen attentively. "Did she look like that when you met her?" He questioned, tapping the screen. What would she want with John? Maybe she was aware of Sherlock's return. Maybe she was involved with the terrorist attacks. Not once would he think the reason she was with him was because she had simply fallen in love. He chuckled internally at the thought. Suddenly remembering the dinner reservations, his eyes lit up and he muttered aloud "She's going to be there." Maybe it was all planned. Maybe- Sherlock again broke himself from his thoughts, and emitted a short sigh from his lips. There were too many suggestions. Too many possibilities. Would going there tonight be a wise decision or not? 'Hi John, your girlfriend is a filthy liar and she's probably out to kill you. Oh, and by the way- I'm not dead.' Biting the inner part of his bottom lip in thought, he began to think maybe more than one icepack would be needed.

It was a rather odd experience, to see Aggie with someone. She hadn't seemed like the kind to be in a relationship- more like a lone wolf, really. "Er, yeah. The blonde hair was a little bit longer, and she was skinnier and wore a lot more black." Adriana murmured after a while. She wondered why on Earth she was with someone who appeared to be so normal. They had shared a lot of the same interests, and were alike in other ways, and Adriana knew that she would never settle with someone boring. Prompted by this, she glanced over at Sherlock perched on the arm chair. She swallowed and blushed, giving her train of thought a harsh shove back on track. Then again, John had been friends with Sherlock, so maybe he had a thing for sociopaths. That was kind of mean wasn't it? Still... Aggie- sorry- _Mary_, was a sociopath, Adriana was a sociopath, and Sherlock... well, he wasn't a psychopath, but he certainly wasn't entirely normal. "It's so weird seeing her without a Winchester in her hands..."

Putting his thoughts on hold, he parted his lips, about to ask Adriana for her opinion- Was he to disturb their dinner reservations for tonight, throwing accusations everywhere? Was she dangerous? But then he sealed his lips, resting his mouth in a firm line. He didn't wish to get too attached to Adriana, her opinion wouldn't matter. _It shouldn't_, he thought sternly. Glancing back to her, away from the screen, he tried his upmost best not to let out a heavy sigh of frustration. Sherlock just sat there, and decided to stare at her for a while. Despite finding it harder to think straight when looking to her, her beauty soothed his brain. With a sudden twitch of his head, Sherlock returned to his feet. **_What on Earth was he thinking_**? "Not a dramatic change of appearance, then." he noted afterwards, voicing the important part of his thoughts.

Nodding in agreement, Adriana pressed her lips into a thin line, which seemed to be her more pensive look. Was there a chance that this John person was in some kind of danger? True, he didn't seem like he had done anything to incur a contract killer, but Adriana didn't know him personally. Maybe Aggie was going after him. Or worse, maybe she was going after Sherlock! He seemed more like the type to get involved in things that could prompt someone to come after him. She looked up at him, brow creased in worry. "You don't think that she might be trying to go after him, or... or you?" She asked slowly, chewing on her lower lip and looking somewhat nervous. You could never trust an assassin, even one that you had made a brief connection with.

Sherlock was pacing about the large space in the living area, his hands behind his back with his fingers interlocked; the gesture pronouncing his broad shoulders. Quickly glancing over to Adriana, curious as to whether or not her facial expression would confirm the hint of worry in her voice- which it did- a grin began to spread across his face. "Not to sound conceited, but I think this woman may be after me." The grin on his lips melted to a pleasant and rather handsome smirk as he turned his eyes to look out from one of the large windows. "One can only hope. I want something more interesting than a _terrorist attack _to come back to." he complained, a trace of excitement and anticipation in his voice. Suddenly, he stopped on his step and turned on his heel to look back at Adriana; giving in, and asking a question he thought he wouldn't. "Is she dangerous?"

There was a very distinct hesitation before Adriana answered. Was Aggie dangerous? She had taken someone out from 100+ yards with a Winchester, and she was also trained an extensible amount in hand to hand, and she was pretty enough to easily get on the inside... But at the same time, there had been a distinct weakness that Adriana had seen in her when they had met. For one thing, her hand shook when it was on the trigger, and she always ended up being a few millimeters off of her mark. She seemed reluctant to kill, as if she was being forced to, instead of making it her living by choice. While such a life would normally incur pity, Adriana refused to feel pity for a lifestyle that could get Sherlock killed. Though he did sound rather frustratingly excited about it. "Depends. On whether or not you're prepared." She decided to go with, punctuating her sentence with a curt nod. "Though the terrorist attack thing is definitely a slightly more primary focus. I could try to talk to Aggie."

An idea suddenly sprouting into his mind, Sherlock clapped his hands together, and bowed his gaze down to the floor with a wider smirk on his lips. Rolling his eyes, he exclaimed "Ugh, finally!" Had he just killed two birds with one stone? Why, I think he did. "Brilliant." He muttered, as he slid his hand into his jacket pocket, removing his phone. He began to tap away on the screen with his thumbs, in an excited fashion. Although his plan had barely anything to do with the supposed terrorist attack, he began putting it together. Step by step it began to fall into place, and Sherlock returned the phone finally to his pocket with a relieved grin.

Raising an eyebrow, Adriana shifted the laptop over to the side and looked curiously over at him. He tended to do that, she noticed- speak to himself, or think that everyone in the room could somehow read his thoughts. She rolled her eyes. It was obviously just so that people would ask him 'what?', and while she despised doing that with a fiery, burning passion, she decided that she could humor him just for now. Sighing melodramatically, she ran a hand through her vibrant hair. "Alright, I'll ask. What brilliant, genius thing have you done now?" She asked heavily, rolling her eyes once more.

Narrowing eyes to the level of slight disappointment- as that wasn't usually the response he'd get- he walked over to his chair, and slumped himself into his seat. "We're going on a date." he said, alongside a smirk.


	4. Chapter 4

**Aahhh got my first review! :D So happy! Anyways, here is chapter 4. Sorry for making ya'll wait so long (sarcasm). Flames will be used to roast marshmallows and tell ghost stories. **

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Glaring at the slightly confused facial expression Adriana still held, Sherlock crossed his legs, and took his neutral position in sitting. "The same restaurant as John and Mar- Angie." Cocking his head slightly to the side, the man realise how the name tasted on his lips. Peculiar. Was it the wrong one? "Amy." he said, trying to correct himself. After another long moment of thinking, he said "Andy?" And then stopped there, dropping the effort to remember.

"You know, Sherl, most people offer, like, flowers or something instead of simply saying 'we're going on a date'." Adriana said, though she had started to grin, and crossed her arms over her chest in an attempt to keep up the look of belligerence. "And it was Aggie." She added, wondering if he would ever forget her name. How many four syllable names starting with 'A' were there, though? "Just call her Mary, though." She stood up and glanced down at herself. Not appropriate for a date. Maybe she should have gotten a dress... but _ugh_, dresses. Not her thing. And besides, this wasn't even a real date. "And that's not a bad idea. Props, Holmes." She shrugged and ran a hand through her hair again. "When are we going? I'm sorta psyched now. Like I said, I don't like sitting for long periods of time."

The man let out a short and sarcastic 'huff' from his lips, as he shifted in his seat. "But I'm not most people." he remarked, with a satirical eyebrow raised. Sherlock continued to stare at her as she stood, adjusting himself so his posture was at its straightest. "No offence, love" he began, gesturing to her clothing with his eyes. "But it's a four point five star restaurant. Maybe you should change your attire." Realizing how impudent and audacious he might've sounded, he cleared his throat before continuing. "It's just-" He stood, suddenly, knocking the mug of tea over with his foot. "I mean-" Glancing down to the trail of liquid on the ground, he sighed. "You might stand out a bit, wearing your casual clothing." He continued, as he made his way over to the kitchen- searching desperately for some cloth.

Slowly smoothing a hand down her clothes, Adriana blushed darkly and ran a hand through her hair. "Er, right." She probably would have said something snarky and insisted upon going out in these clothes, but there were several factors that made her decide not to. Firstly, the fact that he had called her love, and while it may have been sarcastic, it made her heart flutter very uncharacteristically. Secondly, he seemed to actually realize it would piss her off, and had actually gotten a bit flustered about it. And thirdly, he was cute. She grinned and nodded. "Of course, _love_." She reciprocated. "So, I suppose I'll have to go out again." She shrugged and picked the leather backpack up again. "I have a very small window until these people cancel their credit cards." She chuckled, striding out of the door.

Crouching down to cupboard level, Sherlock continued to search for the cloth until Adriana had left. Undoubtedly, the word Love sounded better to his ears then coming from his own lips. When he heard that gorgeous laughter of hers fade away, he leaned forwards and rested his forehead against the cupboard door with a sigh. No matter how much he had tried to deny it, he really did feel something for that woman. Something other than animosity or disdain- which was new for Sherlock. There he remained, for about five to six minutes before returning back to the living area with a cloth. After cleaning the mess he had made- if only he could clean the hopelessly polluted part of his brain which consisted of Adriana as easily- Sherlock walked over to the bathroom to shower.

As was fairly obvious, Adriana detested shopping. Too much security, too little point. Of course, in this situation, Adriana actually had to impress someone. Which was, of course, another thing that she detested. Impressing people was ever so irritating, especially with no clear idea of what they liked. After somewhat mindlessly browsing stores, purchasing some petty casual, daily clothing, and casually pickpocketing, Adriana decided on something that bore resemblance to a 20's flapper dress. It was dark blue, almost black, covered in almost imperceptible silver and white sequins, and hung from her shoulders by very thin straps. It stopped just above her knees, showing her pale, but not unflattering, legs. She paired it with silver heels with straps that went halfway up her calves. She also got matching silver jewelry and diamonds. Whoever owned the credit card she was using probably despised her.'

She took a cab back to 221 B with some anxiety- not because of Sherlock, just _because_, she told herself firmly- wearing her normal clothing again, since she didn't want to draw too much attention, for once. She picked up the things that she had gotten and walked inside, not bothering to knock this time.

Unaware of her return, and having spent seemingly hours in the shower, Sherlock left the bathroom with just a towel around his waist. Running his fingers through his damp curls, his attention was drawn to the living area momentarily, as a small sound had caught his attention. Sherlock walked through the kitchen, and into the living area, looking about cautiously. He began to worry slightly, having hardly idea who it would be- Surely not Adriana, she wouldn't be back yet- but, yes. It _was _Adriana. But... His eyes flickered towards the closed door, and then back to her, questioningly. "How did you get in?" he would've presumed Mrs. Hudson had let her in, but he didn't hear a knock.

Adriana turned to look at Sherlock and stifled a very un-Adriana-like squeak, primarily because he only had on a towel and looked absolutely incredible. "I... I... um..." She stammered for a moment, her mind a bit busy calculating exactly _how_ someone managed to be so completely perfect. "Oh... how did I get in? Right, uh... door was open." She managed after a moment of stammering and darkly blushing. She ran a hand through her hair. "So yeah. That's how I got in, and stuff." She cleared her throat and set her things down on the couch. "Is there somewhere I can change? I am, by the way, actually going to wear a dress, however horrifying that may sound."

As she struggled to spit out her words, Sherlock stood in silence and watched her. Despite being the incredibly intelligent man that he was, he was remarkably ignorant to any signs regarding a flirtatious manner. Hell, he didn't even notice the sudden change in her cheeks. After a somewhat irritably long wait, he received an answer, and nodded once in response. And then she mentioned a dress, which Sherlock was internally excited about. "Yes. In my ro-" he turned and gestured a hand down the hallway leading to his bedroom. But then he dropped his hand, and pointed to the door. "The room upstairs should be alright."

Quickly ducking out of sight, Adriana hurried to the upstairs bedroom, wondering just how obvious her blush was. A glance in the mirror told her _very_. She glanced around the room- simple, well-kept, surprisingly so- and then quickly began to change. She had, of course, decided to get rid of the boring white lingerie, and changed into something black, strapless and considerably lacier. She slid on the dress and zipped it up with an aerobic movement of her arms and fingers, then added the high heels. While they were hell to balance on, she managed her best to keep a straight posture. Unfortunately, running would be damn near impossible. She took a deep breath and ran a hand through her hair, smoothing it down. Hoping she looked alright, Adriana opened the door and descended the stairs. Since Sherlock had probably gone into his own room to change into clothes- hopefully something that wouldn't make her stammer so much- she sat down in the chair she had occupied before, and crossed her legs, picking up her abandoned gun and wondering if there was a possibility of strapping it to her waist.

Now in his room, Sherlock slipped into a suit from his wardrobe. He stood in front of his mirror after dressing, and glared at his reflection for a while in silence. Usual smart shoes, trousers and jacket over the white shirt. Top few buttons left undone, he sighed shortly pondering whether or not to wear a bowtie. No. It'd look as if he made some sort of effort. The suit as itself was decent anyway, wasn't it? Doubting himself, he turned and grabbed a bowtie- applying and then adjusting it. Changing his mind, he removed it. Then applied it. This process repeated a numerous amount of times before he finally left the room- having decided _not_ to wear it. His hair was now dry, and he ran his fingers through his locks as he entered the living area- abruptly stopping on his step to the sight of Adriana. First thoughts? She looked simply exquisite. Never before had he seen such beauty. Suddenly dropping his hands to his side, realizing how he must've looked- standing there and staring at her- he turned his attention to his phone; checking the time. Sherlock had to clear his throat rather awkwardly before speaking. "Much better." He glanced over to her, smiling faintly. "We'll leave in a couple of minutes. I'll just have to order a taxi."

Though the praise was small and somewhat faint, Adriana still beamed a little bit at it, and stood up, somewhat shaky on her heels- at least she was somewhat the same height as Sherlock now, she thought with a small grin- smoothing down her dress. She abandoned the gun, deciding that there was always a chance of it being found, and the general tightness of the dress would make it fairly impossible to hide. She wondered if makeup should have been applied, though the last time she had worn lipstick was when she put on hallucinogenic lipstick in order to eliminate several guards in a prison camp in Kiev. "You don't look so bad yourself." She noted, scanning her eyes indiscreetly up and down his sharp hipbones and gorgeous form. "A top hat would definitely improve it." She smiled.

Bringing the phone to his ear after dialing a number, Sherlock shot another glance to her; a sarcastic grin on his face. "Sorry darling, don't have one." When his call was answered, he turned away from her- partially so he wouldn't get distracted by her beauty, and make a mess of the order- and began with saying "Ah, yes. Taxi to Baker Street, please..." After a very short while, Sherlock hung up and slid the phone back into his jacket pocket. He adjusted the collar on his shirt, before grabbing his coat and fiddling with the collar on that- that was something he had the tendency of doing when nervous. Why was he nervous? Catching another glimpse of Adriana, and her slim figure, he swallowed the lump in his throat and continued with his thoughts. Because of _John_, he told himself. His friend who he hasn't seen for around two years. Although he shouldn't be nervous because Adriana would be with him, and she'd stop him from making any stupid decisions. The phone in his jacket pocket buzzed a few times, and Sherlock swung open the door for Adriana. "It's here." He said, gesturing a hand down the staircase.

Smiling at his politeness, Adriana strode past him, her heels making prominent noises against the floor as she strode past him. She liked his glances towards her, and couldn't help but evoke as many as possible by letting her hips sway side to side slightly. Bad idea with the heels, though, and she nearly tripped, her cheeks turning dark red. She gripped the railing, as if she had meant to this entire time, and turned around to flash Sherlock a devilish grin, before continuing down the steps. She wondered for a moment if this plan was to include actual date-like activities, like mindless chatting about favorite-this or favorite-that, or questions like 'and just how long have you been single'- a very annoying one that seemed to come up a lot- but this was Sherlock, and she highly doubted that anything would be remotely normal with him. She walked out of 221 B, feeling terribly exposed without a weapon, eyes darting to check on any possible sniper points. Feeling somewhat comforted, she climbed into the cab ordered and crossed her legs, waiting for Sherlock.

Having seemingly nowhere else to look, Sherlock found his eyes drifting to the lower lines of her figure- then being overwhelmed with embarrassment when Adriana had caught him, feeling somewhat stupefied. Inhaling shortly, he stepped out onto the corridor and closed the door behind him as he followed her out. Although he should be assembling some sort of logical plan, all he could manage to think about was their 'date'. Sherlock glanced over his shoulder shortly, before closing the main door and walking onto the street; taking a seat beside Adriana and then closing the door to the cab. After muttering an address to the cabby, Sherlock slowly turned his gaze back to the beautiful woman beside him. "We'll arrive slightly early." He pointed out. "Hopefully giving me more time to come up with some sort of plan. I still don't know what to say." The last part he said in a hurried mutter, in hope his intelligence wouldn't be doubted.

Adriana shrugged, her toes curling somewhat in her heels- already, she couldn't wait to get these foot prisons off- and glanced over towards him. "Wonderful. I'll have time to figure out if anyone in there has a deadly weapon. To which I hope the answer is yes, because dates are boring- no offense- and a dagger or an Ariska Carbine can always spice things up." She grinned and smoothed down her dress, feeling the sequins shift beneath her hands. "Though, perfectly honestly, I am a bit nervous. I'm not the best with first dates." She chuckled lightly. "Since half of them are scandals-to-be and the other half are leaks-to-be."

"Oh?" Sherlock said, raising an eyebrow to her words as she spoke. "And which half am I?" He asked, with a smirk. Helplessly, he ran his eyes over her outfit- dark, sequined and tight- he inhaled slowly, turning his head and looking out onto the streets they crossed. _Very tight_, he repeated. He began to silently wonder if Adriana was really as nervous as she had mentioned- I mean, Sherlock was nervous, yes. Maybe too much to bring it up in a conversation? Something flickered inside of him, as he disapproved of the fact that Adriana seemed more stable than himself in this situation.

Lightly chuckling, Adriana shook her head. "Neither. Since this isn't technically a real date, and just a way to find out if your former flat mate is dating an assassin I briefly met so that she can kill either you or him." She shrugged and ran a hand through her hair again, before instructing herself to stop fidgeting so much and laying her hands in her lap. "Er, right?" She asked, glancing towards him and raising an eyebrow almost shyly. A real date with Sherlock would definitely be a bit different. And she would probably be being a bit more flirtatious.

Distracted for a moment or two by her reflection in the window- Sherlock seemed to pick up a rather nasty habit of doing so- his answer became slightly delayed. "Hmm?" Turning his head to her, he nodded once with a smile. "Oh. Yes." Biting the inner part of his bottom lip as he thought, his eyes dropped to the floor of the car. "I'm still not entirely sure how to go about it." He murmured to himself, barely above a whisper. What if John already knew? Well, that's one less thing to worry about. But what if he didn't? Would he save that for later? Sherlock emitted a short "Hm." sound from his lips, as he turned to look back out of the window.

Well, he definitely wasn't one to admit to nervousness, or develop any irritating ticks like chewing on his lip like her. Good for him, she thought and sighed. But he was obviously a bit anxious. She hesitated for a brief moment, then rested her hand on his arm in a semi-comforting gesture. She sort of wished that she had bought some of those posh gloves that went halfway up your arm, since they were great at not leaving fingerprints, and they also looked amazing on her, but if she had, she wouldn't have been able to feel the smooth cloth of his jacket. "Relax. You're a genius, I'm sure you'll have one of those spur-of-the-moment snap decisions."

A sudden flicker of tranquility and warmth ran through Sherlock's veins to her touch; but as he slowly came to the realization that Adriana had actually managed to_ comfort _him, the feeling became painfully frigid and bitter. Growing an attachment towards somebody wasn't a _Sherlock thing, _to do_, _so as he shot her a look- with those sharp blue eyes, that looked merely vexatious- he pulled away his arm. "Thank you." he muttered, slowly turning his eyes back to the window. _Stop it_, he thought. _This is just for a case_- although it really wasn't. _You can't actually _**_enjoy _**_this girl?_ Sighing shortly, Sherlock glanced back to Adriana with an apologetic expression on his face. "Sorry. I'm just doubting myself." Soon after, the car pulled up to their destination. Sherlock paid the driver with a handful of coins, and opened the door to walk over to the entrance of the restaurant.

Smiling over at Sherlock, Adriana followed closely, smoothing her hands down her sides, heels clicking on the concrete. She glanced around, eyes flashing from each window, checking to see if they were any snipers or any threats. The closest thing that came to a threat was a homeless guy sitting in an alleyway with a knife in his belt loop. She sighed tiredly. What was she expecting, to see someone sporting an RPG? If only. Once she caught up to Sherlock, she looped her arm around his, a small grin on her face. "No need to. I trust you completely."

Mr. Holmes turned to the woman at his arm. There she was, comforting him again. And there he was, growing to like her more by the second. Idiot. The smile he soon presented turned to a fairly out-of-place smirk, and he said "And there's your first mistake." before taking the door and strolling in with her.

As they walked in, the first thing Sherlock was to look at was not the scenery, but the people. Before even walking to the Coat Check Attendant, he was able to deduce numerous individuals and their character. At one table, there were both a man and woman. The woman had the trace of a ring on her marriage finger, and every now and then she'd look past the man's shoulder; indicating paranoia. Why? Because she was having an affair. Before he could finish the rest of that deduction, he moved onto someone else- quickly scanning through. Date. Another affair. Date. _First_ date. Sherlock cracked a small smile to_ that_ one. His eyes flickered over to the Coat Check Attendant as they approached, and he slid off his scarf and coat swiftly, handing it to him. Phone in jacket pocket. Married. Anticipation in his eyes. Phone begins to buzz. Sherlock turned away, linking his arm back with Adriana's. The man's wife was going into labor, but needn't he mention it. He would have, of course, if he was going along with his first plan- which was the disguise.

Though curiously glancing towards him, Adriana decided to not respond to his thinking she had made a mistake. She didn't make mistakes, and she wasn't about to ask if she really had made one. Before they entered through the double doors, though, she gave him a small pinch on his side, digging into his skin with her nails for a second and smirking before letting her fingers drop and walking inside with him.

She noticed that Sherlock's eyes seemed to go everywhere at once, drinking in the scene and storing it away on some small shelf of his mind. She followed his gaze as it hopped from table to table. She didn't find anything particularly interesting- no concealed weapons, so what was the point?- other than a ring in a champagne glass that had caused her to double take, as she had first seen it as poison. Sighing somewhat as Sherlock gave the Coat Check Attendant his coat and scarf, she put on the mask of a happy, preppy woman on a first date, all smiles and giggles. It was detestable, of course, and entirely- thankfully- just for show. When the maître's sat them, she was rather irritated to find that they were in an area that, if a hacksaw/chainsaw/machine gun wielding maniac were to burst through the door, they would probably be pulverized first. _Ah well, c'est la vie,_ she thought, arranging her hands in her lap and glancing around the restaurant again, wondering if John was already here.

When taking the seat opposite to Adriana, the fake smile which cornered to his lips suddenly dropped, putting his mind into further work. For a short while, Sherlock continued to glance around the restaurant, now noticing how it was structured. A beautifully unique and tall ceiling, each table laid all the same in a very precise and well-suited manner. The man only took a few moments to admire the beauty of the restaurant, before moving his gaze to the woman opposite him- subconsciously bringing a hand to his side. Smoothing down his jacket- and partially trying to wipe away Adriana's touch which still lingered- he shifted in his seat.

"John isn't here yet-" he began, before being rudely interrupted by a waiter, presenting a menu to the both of them. Sherlock shot the man a look of annoyance, quickly fixing his expression so that it looked pleasant and welcoming. Taking the one menu given, Sherlock opened it and rested it on the table. Playing the character he had given himself as _Boyfriend_, he turned closer to Adriana, pointing at a few meals they'd possibly order; a charming and happy smile on his face. "I'll give you two some time to decide." The Waiter said, in a very well-spoken and pronounced British accent with a grin on his face. "Yes, thank you." Sherlock replied, holding the surprisingly believable - and to some, maybe sarcastic and mocking- smile. As The Waiter turned to leave, The Detective moved away from the menu and rested back in his seat. "John isn't here yet." He repeated, the smile gone and his voice serious. "He should arrive in ten to fifteen minutes. With Mary."

Running a hand through her strands of hair, Adriana gave him a nod and glanced towards the door, measuring out an escape route in her head, mostly just for kicks, and noting that there were a few discreet security cameras hidden in the corners behind sconces. Stereotypical, and boring. She nearly laughed, but stifled it and turned to look over at Sherlock.

She silently thought back to some of the first dates that she had had- the worst had probably been the one where the KGB decided to break in during dessert and make an attempt (failed attempt, for the record) to arrest her- and wondered if Sherlock had ever been on a date. He seemed the type who would get a lot of women, but hardly know what to do with them, and she contemplated for a moment what a real date with him would be like. She folded her hands in her lap again, interlacing her fingers together. "Have you ever been on a first date before?"

Narrowing his eyes slightly to the question, Sherlock crossed one leg over the other, taking his hands to rest on the surface of the table before them both. Why would she ask such a thing? He pondered. Was the answer obvious? Sure, people had asked him in the past- Sherlock would never ask himself, as he was never curious to learn about another- but he had always...graciously denied. Okay, maybe gracious isn't the word. When they'd always question his decline, he'd always truthfully respond with something along the lines of "Because you're of no interest to me in any sort of way, and quite frankly you're boring, dull, and plain." This, of course, revealed the obnoxious bastard that he was so had been given less offers over time. Staring at Adriana for a while in silence, Sherlock began to contemplate, not a truthful answer, but one that would impress her somewhat. Rolling his eyes internally to himself, he parted his lips and said "No. And I never intend to." he smiled faintly, before turning to look over his shoulder towards the door. His eyes drifted over to the clock. Seven minutes, now.

"Oh?" Adriana raised an eyebrow, unable to prevent looking somewhat disappointed. She hoped he didn't notice, of course. At least he had reaffirmed that this didn't count as a real date, and she didn't have to worry about impressions. Well, actually, she worried about impressions anyways around Sherlock. "I've been on way too many dates, to be honest." She chuckled lightly and rolled her eyes. "So I suppose hanging out with someone that I just met in order to help him publicly resurrect is a bit of a relief. Sort of fun, really." She hummed and glanced around. "What if he sees you first?"

Turning back to face Adriana, the faintest grin on his lips, Sherlock said "Why would he?" The man interlocked his fingers, glaring at her with question in his eyes. "I'm the one looking for him, therefore it makes sense that I'll see him first." He arched an eyebrow, curiously, waiting for some sort of acceptance to his logic. "As far as he's aware, Sherlock is dead. And if somehow he manages to glance toward me, he'll mistake himself. He'll brush me off as a mere look-alike. He had come to terms with my death, by now. Surely." Broadening his shoulders as he inhaled only to let out a short sigh, Sherlock continued. "John will have to look at me in the eye to realize that I am in fact, alive."

Adriana shrugged. "You know, when my dad got killed, I saw him everywhere. Like, I actually went up to a few people and thought that they really were my dad." She pressed her lips into a thin line. "But I'm sure he's over your death, and won't see you. Or maybe he'll think he's going insane, and then he'll scream and freak out and have a seizure or something." She giggled, then composed herself. "Sorry, never mind. He'll be completely calm and collected about it." She hummed thoughtfully. "Ooh, maybe you could buy him a bottle of wine, and the waiter will be all 'compliments of the gentleman over there'." She suggested. "And he'll freak out and there'll be a sweet moment of reunion. Or does that only work in bars?"

The man stared at Adriana attentively. She always seemed to turn everything into a joke. Surely the mention of her father's death would make her upset. That's how normal people would act. But then again he wouldn't class her as _normal_. However, finally he smiled and laughed in the faintest way to her theory on John's reaction. And although Adriana's next words- her suggested plan- didn't quite cross his mind, Sherlock still sat for a while to contemplate it. To note any flaws. Within the time of doing so, The Waiter returned with a bottle of champagne, filling each glass beside them. His eyes were fixated upon the bottle as he thought, and then Sherlock glanced back to Adriana with a satisfied nod. "Mh. I suppose that could work." Narrowing his eyes slightly, as his thoughts went deeper The Man sighed shortly. He wasn't 100% certain if it would, as he had never really done so at a restaurant before. Neither had he been to a bar- inexistent social life and all. "Maybe."

"Maybe?" Adriana scoffed and picked up the champagne, balancing the stem delicately between her ring and middle finger, her hand cupping the glass. "Excuse me, but all of my plans are totally and completely well thought-through, as well as being totally genius." She took a sip of champagne. It wasn't her normal stuff- most of her drinking activities were long in the past, other than drinking contest here and there to win a bit of cash or get a bit of information. Though champagne she found to be a much more luxurious drink. Very delicate tasting, and very bubbly, like pearls or something. She hummed in appreciation and set it down, glancing over at Sherlock and trying to detect any sort of anxiety or nervousness. Calm and collected as ever, she thought appreciatively. "Pity you've never been on a first date. You certainly know how to treat a girl." She joked, picking up the champagne glass and toasting it towards him before taking another sip of the golden, bubbly liquid.

Still very confident, he noted silently about the girl. It's all in her eyes. As ever, Sherlock got a bit distracted in deducing anything about Adriana. Beginning to detect anything via her body language, his eyes drifted over to the way she was sat. The delicate way she held the glass, with those intricate fingers of hers. Letting out a short "Mm." before he continued to speak- unless his voice had suddenly become laced with nerves- Sherlock took the glass by the head; one thumb pressed against one side, and two on the opposite. After taking a sip of the champagne- which, may I add, felt like silk to his tongue- he began with his question. "So you're completely certain?" Sherlock caught a glance from an empty table a few yards down, swirling the liquid in the glass he held in his grip as he did so. Then he glanced back to Adriana, with an eyebrow raised. "That it'll work?"

"Well, at the moment, it seems like your best course of action." Adriana shrugged and scratched underneath one of the straps, the sequins starting to itch her skin. She took another sip of champagne, smiling as the bubbles went down her throat. Glancing around once more, Adriana suddenly perked up. There were two people who had just walked in, the most prominent- to Adriana, at least- was the woman. Her hair was short and blonde, and she looked incredibly familiar. It was odd, of course, to see her in a dress instead of a black, skintight combat suit with ammo strapped over her chest

Keeping his back to the door, and seeing Adriana's eyes suddenly perk up with excitement, Sherlock gathered only one thing. They were here. Taking another sip from the champagne- mostly for courage, although something stronger would've been more acceptable at this point-Sherlock shifted in his seat, glancing to Adriana with an eyebrow raised. "We don't want to be noticed just yet." Sherlock muttered, flashing his eyes about for some sort of distraction from their identity, as they were certain to walk past their table. The only thing he could possibly think of at the time was a menu. But there was only one. And if holding a large piece of cardboard in front of your face didn't attract too much attention to yourself, he didn't know what did.

Taking a brief moment to survey Aggie- _Mary, _she reminded herself- Adriana turned back to Sherlock, nodding in agreement. She noted that he had resorted to hiding behind a menu, though her first instinctive course of action was to cause a distraction. As the couple started towards their table- lost in each other's eyes, of _course_, she thought with a roll of her eyes- she picked up her desert fork and discreetly flicked it towards a large vase of fake flowers with marbles full of it. It shattered, spreading marbles, plastic stems, and cloth petals all over the floor. Everyone in the restaurant turned around, including Mary and John, as they stepped past the table where Adriana and Sherlock sat. They turned back around- as a shattered vase wasn't enough to gather attention for such a long time, and walked to their table, not noticing the both of them. Adriana grinned. "Timed perfectly. You can complement me now, Holmes."

Eyes flickering up from the menu to the sudden sound, Sherlock rose a curious eyebrow. When he was sure that her somewhat ridiculously absurd plan worked-which was rather surprising at that- he dropped the menu down before him, catching a glance in the couple's direction. The man scoffed, and widened his eyes. "Good lord." What was _that _on John's face? A moustache? Flickering his eyes away from his friend, and back to Adriana- the stupefied expression now gone, and replaced with a thankful smile- he nodded once. "That was...impressive." Not wanting to sound too admirable, he continued on to say "But don't pull a stunt like that again. What if you made a mistake, hmm?"

That seemed to be the way that Sherlock was, Adriana supposed. Unable to entirely give a compliment. Though she was a bit fond of it- he clearly didn't want to act impressed, even if he was. "Oi there, I never make mistakes." She folded her arms obstinately over her chest, pausing for a moment. "Well, not including Serbia. Serbia was a mistake." She said thoughtfully, tilting her head to the side for a moment in thought. "At least my former flat mate doesn't look like the Lorax." She added, glancing over at the couple as they sat down, cringing a bit at the moustache.

_Never makes mistakes_, hmm? "I can name a few." Sherlock muttered, bringing the champagne to his lips again as he glanced over to their table. Trusting him for one. And that one time in Serbia where Mycroft came to free them, and she absentmindedly lunged at him. He chuckled internally to that, sort of wishing he hadn't stopped her. "I don't understand why he has decided to get..._that_." Sherlock then said, staring over to John with a disdainful look towards his facial hair. "It's obvious Mary _despises_ it. So why?" The detective shrugged, and sighed a little. "I suppose we'll have to discuss that." he muttered, to himself.

Still looking over at the prominent and somewhat frightening facial hair, Adriana chuckled and ran a hand through her own hair, glad that it stayed quite firmly on her scalp, and not below her nose. "It's so weird to think of her as Mary. I mean, you get to know a person as an assassin named Agra, and all of a sudden she's some housewife-esque woman named Mary Morstan. _Honestly_." Adriana blew a strand of hair out of her eyes. "So, what are we going to do? The wine thing or... something else?" She asked.

Placing the glass down in the space before him, Sherlock now glanced back to Adriana with difficulty. Her plan would work, there was no doubting that. It was just a shame he didn't think of it himself. "_The Wine Thing_." he said, mocking her words with a small grin. He'd try and be independent from here. Deciding himself _when _they should put the little plan into action. Taking his index finger, Sherlock tapped the bottom of his chin gently in contemplation. "I'll wait until they settle."

"Aw." Adriana pouted. "But I want to see you get punched." She complained, taking another sip of champagne. She was starting to get accustomed to the taste, though she reminded herself to hold off from drinking too much. "To pass the time we could always judge people. When I get bored, I like ranking people as they pass by. It enforces my cynical views on the world." She chuckled. "For example..." Glancing around the restaurant for a moment, she pointed to a woman sitting with a man. Her hair was done up in elaborate ringlets, her arms were decorated with a balloon-sleeved dress, and she had on a large pair of crystal chandelier-like earrings. "Take her. I give her a 4 out of 10. Those heels will be impossible to run in, her dress is highly flammable, and her earrings would make an orchestra if she was trying to sneak anywhere. She gets a 4 only because her hair is to die for, and her bag would easily fit a proper handgun."

Sherlock shot Adriana a look of mere surprise, and perhaps _offence_ to her momentary disappointment with his eyes that held slight resemblance to small pale blue crystals._ How pleasant_, he thought, sarcastically. Though, despite her sometimes off-putting attitude, Sherlock did indeed, actually quite like her. Following her gaze to another table- a couple, been together about 6-7 months judging by their body language and fluent conversation; though he presumed they wouldn't last long as no lust or interest was visible in their eyes- Sherlock smirked, as Adriana began to speak of the lady wearing, I daresay a rather humorous dress. Turning back to look to Adriana, Sherlock took the wine glass and again brought it to his lips, taking a small sip. "So," he began, tilting the glass to the side, away from his mouth. "You want me to rate my interest in women's clothing with you?" Chuckling, he took another sip before continuing. "This may come as a bit of a surprise, but I'm not one to wear female attire." With that, he gently placed the wine glass back onto the table before him; then glancing back to the lady with the odd dress. "Who is to say she intends on _running _anywhere, anyway?"

Adriana rolled her eyes. "It's not about women's clothing, it's about practicality." She said with a slight shrug. "And of course she's going to be running soon. That guy's packing. He's got a knife attached to his calf. Not sure why, exactly... You can always tell, though- he's got his left pant leg bunched up a bit." She pointed discreetly over at it. "I've had to wear slacks with a knife on my calf before. Absolute hell. You have to bunch your pants up a little bit so you don't stab your ankle on accident." She said knowledgeably, glancing over at another couple.

Staring at her with intent eyes, the whole way through her little speech, it slowly became obvious that Sherlock's interest in Adriana increased. Why didn't he notice that? Dragging his eyes away from Adriana, he instead looked over again to the man and woman. Well, he wouldn't notice that. He wasn't looking for it. Had he just_ learned _something from her? The detective didn't like this. Not at all. Glancing to her, before taking another sip from his champagne Sherlock emitted a short "Mh." from his lips.

With a light shrug of her shoulders, Adriana turned to glance over at another couple. Nothing interesting there- no weapons, at least, as far as she could tell. She wasn't good at telling anything about people other than weaponry, unfortunately. She uncrossed her legs and crossed them again, with opposite legs, and folded her hands in her lap. Sherlock definitely wasn't one for giving compliments, though she had found the observation to be rather impressive. Then again, he had probably already seen it. She bit her lower lip again and searched for something to say. "So..." She looked over at John and _Mary_ again. "They seem happy. I'm having my doubts that she's trying to kill him, or anyone, to be honest."

Not at all accepting her statement, Sherlock chuckled lightly as he rested the champagne onto the table before him, leisurely lowering his fingers to the bottom of the glass. Following Adriana's gaze, the man only laughed again; as if confirming his amusement from just a glance. "When would an assassin have time to_ love_?" He asked, rhetorically with a humored grin. "Or even be happy." He added, not very much enjoying the way the other word tasted on his tongue. The same waiter as earlier returned, blocking Sherlock's view to the table in which Mary and John sat. This man seemed to be doing a splendid job at being irritable. "Are you ready to order sir? Ma'am?" The waiter said, glancing to and from Sherlock and Adriana, pulling out a small notepad with a pen at the ready. Resisting the urge to sigh and roll his eyes, Sherlock shot a look to Adriana, waiting for her to respond first so he could copy her order. He wasn't too hungry himself, and didn't seem to have time to read over the menu. Why would he? This was, after all, a _fake_ date. Then Sherlock ran his eyes over the waiter, deducing his character in the momentary silence.

Taking a moment to mull over his words- _When would an assassin have time to love, or even be happy?_ - as she glanced over, rather pointedly, at him, she decided that her minor attraction-hah, _minor_- towards him had gone entirely unnoticed, she looked down at her menu and decided not to comment upon it, casting her eyes back down at her menu. She was a type of assassin, she supposed. Would it be entirely illogical for her never to love or be happy? Of course not. Everyone has emotions. She looked back up at Sherlock for a brief moment. Well, maybe not _everyone_. Right as she was about to quip out something about everyone having emotions, with slight emphasis on 'everyone', the waiter suddenly appeared and Adriana smiled curtly up at him. When she felt unimportant, she sometimes liked to think of her life as a movie of sorts, and would imagine what being behind the scenes to it all would be like, or where the cameras and equipment would be pointed. Waiters, she usually thought, were the smallest roles possible, and would probably go to a PA, last minute. And they always tried to emphasize their small role, make themselves seem as if they were the stars, and would get third billing, or even first. She disliked waiters, in the end, for trying to act as if their three lines were something more. "Steak, medium rare, and Caesar salad. Thanks." She said, holding the menu out to him with barely a glance.

His eyes continued to run over the waiter silently until Sherlock came to a brief conclusion on his individual character. Selfish, stubborn and overall idiotic. A few faint vermilion colored marks to one side of his neck implied that he had recently been..._busy_. Again suggesting that he didn't take his job too seriously. Early adulthood, late adolescence. The boy really should be taking his future somewhat earnestly at this age. With a quick glance about the restaurant, Sherlock picked out a female waitress; her lips matching the color to the boy's throat primarily of them all. Although she seemed to be fairly comfortable with a few others. The mere trace of his attitude Sherlock had been given, revealed his stubbornness. Needless to say, the detective was a rather brilliant judge of character and didn't intend on speaking to this boy any longer than he had to- having found a new spark of hatred towards him. "And the same for me." He said, flickering away his eyes and glancing over to Adriana; who was surprisingly quiet. The Waiter nodded once, scribbling down a few words on the paper before him before asking "Anything el-" and being cut off by Sherlock abruptly with a "No." He answered for Adriana, also; not really taking any more time to deduce her answer himself. When the waiter left with a slight stupefied expression on his face, Sherlock turned his attention back to Adriana with one Hell of an irritated look upon his face. Sighing, he grabbed the glass of champagne and brought it again to his lips. He had a want to start conversation- maybe mention the stupidity of the waiter, the choice of her plate? - But after a short while of contemplation, he decided to remain quiet.

Folding her hands neatly in her lap once more, Adriana looked up at Sherlock, studied him for a moment. There was a silence over the table, though it felt a bit more companionable than awkward. She wondered if she should say something, or remain tight-lipped. It had been her, after all, who had spoken first back in Siberia. The thought brought a small grin to her lips- Siberia. How strange it was that not even 24 hours ago, she had been captive in some dank cell, wounded to an inch of her life, thinking that she'd never escape and was most definitely doomed. And now she was sitting in a sequined dress across from a more than attractive man, with heavy earrings on and bloody high heels, drinking champagne. At least their conversation hadn't been too boring up to this point- assassins, long lost friends, fake death- and this wasn't (thank God) a real date. She drummed her nails on the side of the champagne glass, producing a sound that was akin to her laugh, bright and musical. Out of habit, or curiosity, she glanced over at John and _Mary_, and noticed something she hadn't before. That John had a small velvet box in one hand. Despite herself, she grinned- what could she say? She liked weddings- and cleared her throat. "I feel bad now... we're probably going to be ruining what could be a very nice moment. He's about to propose." She turned to look more carefully at them, deciding that her theory of them actually being happy was right- since everyone has feelings, including Sherlock, and Mary always had been a terrible liar, so Adriana couldn't see how she could fake an entire relationship- and ruining a moment like this probably wouldn't be very decent.

When taking a sip from the champagne, Sherlock coughed slightly to her observation. Flickering his wide eyes over to the table, Sherlock now noticed the small box his friend had in his grip. The detective just rolled his eyes, placing the glass again to the table, and sighed. "Or maybe I could save him the embarrassment and interrupt before he makes the biggest mistake of his life." Sherlock suggested, with a grin. The box when in his pocket was noticeable, but having now removed it from its hidden place Sherlock began to think that John would actually go along with it. That he'd play through his absurd decision. Which was certainly not what he'd expect to be done. His attention turned back to Adriana who sat opposite him, a curious eyebrow merely raised. A trace of doubt in her eyes was obviously evident, implying she was perfectly serious of the words she spoke. Which made Mr. Holmes quite uncomfortable. Mary and John were actually _in love_, hmm? He turned his gaze to bow down to the table cloth, gears turning in his head as he began to comprehend Adriana's words and re-think her plan. And then his thoughts trailed off toward the question: Why care what Adriana thinks at all? To that the answer suddenly returned was: _Because you care about her as an individual._ Something flickered in his eyes to the thought, and he quickly tried to abolish those words from his head.

Raising an eyebrow and giving Sherlock an imitative eye roll, Adriana shook her head. "You can interrupt a proposal if you like, but..." She paused, noticeably, and looked over at the soon-to-be fiancés. "... but I'm going to have to upgrade that punch you'll undoubtedly get into a kick in the stomach and probably a hard uppercut. Which'll be a pity, since you've got a marvelous chin and I'd hate to see it get smashed." She said, smiling cleverly over at Sherlock. She turned to the waiter who was serving in John and Mary's section and waved him over. Without waiting for the question- which would, of course, be 'can I help you with anything' or 'do you need something' punctuated with a ma'am, or miss- Adriana gave him a charming smile and ran a hand through her hair. "Would you mind giving that table over there a bottle of wine? Something red, maybe '98? They're friends of ours, about to be engaged." She said, making her voice go up an octave so she sounded a bit less intimidating, or serious. "It's the funniest thing, they don't even know we're here. Isn't it hilarious?" She said to Sherlock, nodding her head slightly towards the waiter in indication for him to follow her lead. Mainly because she figured he hated following other people's leads and she felt like poking a bear with a stick.

Without getting a chance to comment on anything Adriana had previously said, Sherlock simply glared at the woman with stiff eyes. Ones that held no emotion other than mere annoyance. "Quite." he muttered, before turning his attention to the waiter- his facial expression utterly different now, charmingly bright and friendly. "Give them our finest condolences." Sherlock said, with a mocking grin. Noticing the waiter and his somewhat confused manner he went about-allowing a rather awkward silence to linger over the table- Sherlock sighed internally and refashioned his sentence. "I mean, prosperity. We wish them the very best. Could you tell them that?" he said, with a more hopeful grin. The waiter chuckled nervously, and nodded once. "Of course." he said, finally, before hurrying away to do so. Again Sherlock's grin dropped, eyes focused upon the table the couple sat at. I suppose if you glared for long enough, you could detect truthful happiness. They appreciated each-others company. Were obviously madly in love. Holmes couldn't help but emit a short and disdainful sigh of disgust from his lips, as he turned back to Adriana. Love wasn't_ necessary_ in life. If anything, it was a weakness. Needless to say, it was something Sherlock did not at all abide by. Under _any_ circumstances. Partially because it was one of very little things he didn't understand. Coincidentally enough, Adriana fell under the same list.

As the waiter walked off, Adriana flashed Sherlock a satisfied smirk and ran her hand through her hair once more. "Oh _darling_, you really could have improvised a bit better than 'quite' and 'give them our condolences'." She said, keeping her voice in the same slightly high octave, curling her toes in her shoes and continuing to grin. She cleared her throat, resuming her normal voice. "Do you think that I should give Mary away? I mean, they look so happy... I'd hate to ruin it for them. Though every sitcom, ever, says that basing a relationship off of lies never works..." She murmured thoughtfully and tapped her lips with her finger. She looked over at the dark-haired man sitting across from her, and was rather glad that she had nothing to hide from him. Did she? She tilted her head to the side. No, she'd told him pretty much everything. She chuckled and studied her fingernails. "So- condolences?" She asked with a small grin. "That the sort of thing you normally say to people in healthy relationships about to get married, or is this a special occasion?"

Rolling back his shoulders slightly with his eyes fixed upon Adriana, Sherlock tried his best to forget of the pain which still lingered from only yesterday's time of enduring great torcher. Focusing on something else, though, something so... incomprehensible, made it easier to forget of the pain. It was the usual thing to interrupt a person if they talked for this long, but strangely enough Sherlock felt that he could happily listen to Adriana talk for hours. Nothing she ever said seemed to bore him. Or was it just her accent? His eyes ran from her own and down her form. They observed her dress, her accessories, and her shoes. All quite discreetly. Her words_ 'Basing a relationship off of lies never works_' loomed around his head; and he was seemingly unable to rid of them. What did he know about Adriana? Quite a lot. And what did Adriana know about Sherlock? ... More than he wanted, really. He was usually a concealed man. And she was supposed to be but a stranger. When she had finally stopped talking, the detective desperately racked his brains for a question to answer. As, even though he was staring, he wasn't quite paying attention. "No." He blurted out, then taking the champagne and elaborating on his point. "John should only know about Mary if she's of any harm to him. And the way you describe it... Well, I assume we have nothing to worry about."

There was, of course, the possibility that Mary was after Sherlock, instead of John, but Adriana decided not to worry about that now. Instead, she trained her bright eyes on the two blondes, watching their reaction carefully. The waiter walked over with the bottle of wine, showed it to each of them- oh, hurry up, will you? She thought to herself with a small eye roll, glad that she would never have to sink to the level of a waiter- then gestured over at Sherlock and Adriana. Mary caught Adriana's glance first, and the vibrant woman gave the former assassin a tiny wave and a wink. Her expression was one of shock, though it was controlled in the way of an expert liar. It was tactful, and Adriana couldn't help but be a tiny bit impressed. She turned her attention to John- or as she had named him in her head, 'the Lorax'- who looked positively bewildered. And a little bit frightened. "I think we should go over and see them, heh?" She asked, standing up and smoothing her clothes down.

Placing the champagne to the table, and running his fingers gently down the figure of glass Sherlock's eyes lazily turned to follow Adriana's gaze. When seeing the waiter at their table with wine in their view, his eyes brightened up a little bit. Sherlock was staring at John now, attentively, waiting for some sort of response. Other than fear, perhaps. Personally, Sherlock hoped that the next emotion would be happiness- but the way his fellow comrade-_no_, acquaintance-had described it, suggested that it'd be anger. A heavy smirk cornered to this man's perfectly structured lips as he stood, pulling gently on sides of his jacket. "Mh, we shall." he responded, in agreement; eyes not leaving John. But when they finally did-curious to Mary's reaction- they flickered over to the woman in John's company. Strange, though. Sherlock found it incredibly easy to deduce anything about her- including her hidden tattoo, the fact that she is short sighted so on and so forth- but he needn't forget that overall, she was a liar. And that this was most probably a character she had created. All of it, maybe. Which indeed, was slightly impressive. As they stood away from the table, Sherlock held out an arm to Adriana who was stood by his side. "Well, shall we?" he asked, slightly excited now to approach John. God, what would he say? _Short version: Not dead. _He smiled a little to the thought, it was so simple yet it would be somewhat perfect to voice.

There was a small part of Adriana that was very eager to see Mary again. Another small part of her was eager to meet this John fellow- since keeping Sherlock's attention, as she had already learned, was fairly difficult, and she admired him for managing such a long time- and another part of her sort of wanted to see Sherlock get punched. She linked her arm with Sherlock and cast him a fond sort of look, then strode forward, pulling him along very gently and smiling lightly. They stopped beside John and Mary's table, and Adriana unhooked her arm from Sherlock's, stepping away slightly, as one would do from something that they weren't entirely sure was going to do something volatile, i.e. explode. Sherlock was probably planning to say something, so she stayed quiet, and cast her eyes over at Mary. She, shockingly, did not have a concealed weapon. Or unconcealed weapon. _What's happened to you, Aggie?_ She thought with an imperceptible shake of her head.

Finally approaching the table, Sherlock brought his hands to his front; interlocking his fingers as he stood, watching John with intent, sharp eyes. All was painfully silent, and after a rather long while, Sherlock spoke up. "Hello, John." Said Sherlock, without another glance to the woman sat opposite him. John suddenly pushed back the chair, punching a knuckle onto the table firmly as he stood. The detective flickered his eyes uncomfortably, forcing a smirk to his face. "Short version:_ Not_ dead." he then said, when getting nothing but a vexatious glare from his friend. Mr. Watson inhaled slowly through his nose, closing his eyes in a manner of frustration. "John, what is it?" enquired Mary, a highly worried tone to her voice. "No." he half-muttered. "No, no!" he repeated, snapping open his eyes and looking up to the tall, dark-haired man before him. "You're dead." Now, the both of them were looking at him, with heavy curiosity in their eyes. "Oh, God. You're-" "Yes." The detective interrupted, with a slight eye roll. "But you're dead!" She exclaimed. "Nope." he then stated, with a short sigh. Mr. Holmes only hoped these pointless and somewhat absurd questions wouldn't continue for long.

Feeling somewhat as if some interference was required, Adriana cleared her throat and put her hand on Sherlock's arm, as if in warning. "And, you know, me." She said smartly, before taking another half-step away and pausing by Mary's side. She wasn't half-bad at lying- she didn't let her gaze linger for too long, she focused on something else entirely, in fact. Adriana hoped they'd get a moment alone to talk, though- she had missed Aggie, just a little bit; after all, she was the most amicable assassin that Adriana had ever come across. She turned to look at the rather intense gaze in between John and Sherlock, and winced slightly. Maybe something more than a punch, she thought with minor worry. This didn't seem like a pleasant place for a murder...

The frustration overwhelming John, quite suddenly became immense. As this happened, Sherlock flickered his gaze away to Adriana, smiling faintly as some sort of realization sparked in his eyes. "Ah, yes. And this is-" Hatsford? Hutsford? A surprise shock of shame shortly shot through him, to having the incapability of remembering her surname. "Adriana." he finished simply. Maybe now isn't the time to explain on how they were...somewhat acquainted. Not in Heaven, nor Hell. Quite obviously, as he hadn't been dead. Something Mr. Watson was still trying to comprehend, he noted. "You're- bloody Hell..." Muttered John, ignoring Adriana's mere introduction completely. "Bloody Hell, Sherlock. I grieved. You let me grieve. Two bloody years-" he broke himself off with another vexatious sigh. "Right- before you do anything you might regret," Sherlock began, suddenly raising his hands slightly in surrender. "Just let me ask you one thing. Just one thing." And for a moment, there was silence. "You're not really keeping that, are you?" Mr. Holmes questioned, gesturing to the dreadful moustache on John's face with a grin. And with that, John swung around a fist, colliding it with the right side of Sherlock's jawline; then taking the detective by the shirt and throwing him to the ground violently.

For a brief moment, Adriana's only thought was "Hah, totally called it." Though she said nothing out loud. Though she reacted rather quickly after that and rushed forward, easily prying the blonde off of Sherlock with a talented twisting motion. She shoved a hand into his chest and pushed him away, taking Sherlock's collar and pulling him up off of the ground. God, that had been a good punch, she thought, somewhat impressed by the bruise that was definitely going to rise on Sherlock's jaw. She placed one hand on John's chest, bracing her fingers on his ribs. "You alright, Sherlock?" She asked. The waiters and a few customers had stood up in alarm, and Adriana was fairly sure that the manager was coming to throw them out. Wonderful. She wondered for a moment if Sherlock forgot her full name- hardly surprising, she did have a long name, though she was a bit pissed off- though decided that that was a matter for later. "And its Adriana Selene Hartford, thanks kindly." She muttered under her breath. Mary had stood up and hurried over to the both of them as well, though a bit too late- _slipping, Aggie_- and Adriana cleared her throat. "And we need to get out of here."

To an attempt at regaining his balance once on his feet, Sherlock brushed down his jacket before taking two fingers and resting them over the mark John had created. That was certainly a queer welcoming. One he wasn't anticipating. Though the quickness of Adriana's-Adriana Selene Hartford, his noted-reflexes were truly impressive. Despite internal approval, Sherlock couldn't help but feel a bit embarrassed. A lady such as herself being so...aggressive. That suggested Adriana didn't play too well under-cover. The man could've completely handled it himself. "Mh." Sounded Sherlock, looking over to John again. Soon afterwards, a few men in unimportant looking uniform approached them and ushered them desperately towards the exit. "I'm tremendously happy you're alive, Sherlock." Sherlock spoke, in a mocking tone and under his breath. "Why, thank you John." he continued, with a melodramatic eye roll as he headed towards the door. Before leaving, Sherlock managed to snatch his coat and quickly slid it on as he walked out into the night, standing steadily on the pathway to the entrance. "There was really no need for that." He spat out in a whisper, as he turned to Adriana, when she followed on behind him. As far as he was aware, Sherlock hadn't done anything at all erroneous to deserve such violence.

Glancing over her shoulder for one last look at Mary- she looked visibly shaken, to Adriana's great enjoyment- Adriana turned and traipsed along after Sherlock, her heels making prominent sounds on the pavement. "You were being assaulted. It was instinct." She shrugged, hoping that her pulling the shorter man off of him hadn't been too irritating. "Oh, were you talking about him punching you?" She pressed her lips into a thin line and shook her head slightly. "I hate to say I told you so... but when you leave someone for two years, make them think you're dead, and... well, I'm pretty sure that no matter how you came back, he would've been angry." She hesitated for a moment, wondering if she could possibly comfort him. "I'm sorry. If it means anything." She placed her hand on top of his as they walked, loosely; ready to let go, just in case.

With an index finger on his jawline, Sherlock could feel the sharp cut made on his flesh. Emitting a short and rather irritated sigh as they walked, he dropped his hand to his side heavily. The irritation had soon worn off, though, when Adriana had begun to speak. Even those first words were soothing, and somewhat curious. _'You were being assaulted. It was instinct.' _Instinct to help him? Somebody she had virtually only just met? His eyes flickered over to her, as she apologized. And then they shot down towards her hand, as she did so for added comfort; icy blue eyes fixated on her touch. "I- uhm..." he began, a sort of nervous state overcoming him. "I should try again tomorrow." he stated, pulling away his hand to shove into his coat pocket. Sherlock turned to look straight ahead as they walked, and then suddenly stopped on his step; raising a hand to hail a taxi. Glancing again to Adriana quickly, Sherlock sighed internally to the obvious way he felt for her. No doubt if she was one being attacked, he'd help her with no hesitation. But why? _For God's sake, Sherlock_. That mocking voice of his brothers echoed in his head, and he had to quickly tap at his temple to rid of it.

Once a cab pulled up, Adriana shifted slightly in her heels- Jesus Christ, she absolutely despised these torture devices of shoes- and got inside, and crossing her legs neatly. "It's like how I always say." She grinned. "If at first you don't succeed, and you're still alive, try, try again." She glanced out the window and started to count the buildings she could see on the skyline. Some of the glowing windows, when aligned correctly, would make up the first part of Fibonacci sequence. She smiled- it was wonderful when things lined up like that. A thought suddenly crossed her mind- where was she going to sleep tonight? She hadn't managed to get a hotel room. Could she stay the night with Sherlock? She looked over at the dark-haired man, and a light blush crossed her cheeks. Her mind made the leap from 'stay the night' to 'shagging' almost instantly. Alright, rephrase- could she _sleep in the same flat _with Sherlock? After Sherlock had given the cabbie the address, she cleared her throat. "Mind if I stay at the flat overnight? I can take the couch, if you like."

From glaring out onto the street they passed, Sherlock turned his head to the woman sat beside him, with a curious eyebrow raised. "Sure." he said, slowly; attempting to comprehend the consequences. Wait-_what_? There'd be none. Of course. None at all. His eyes ran over her form, leisurely- in an attempt to make any new deductions. Having to squint his eyes to detect the slight change of colour in which highlighted Adriana's cheeks, he then quickly darted away his gaze towards the space before him. Although, he couldn't help but think the sofa would bring more than slight discomfort to her. He supposed she could always stay in John's old room. Though, having it been deserted for two years, it could have quite an unpleasant atmosphere. Dust and all. He glanced again to her, discreetly. "The couch?" he then questioned, in a slight undertone voice. "That'd be slightly uncomfortable." Having just voiced his thoughts, Sherlock's eyes widened slightly to the possible suggestion he was seemingly implying

Adriana abruptly giggled, though she quickly covered her mouth with her hand. She was fairly certain that what he had said was a slip of the tongue, or not meant to sound dirty- her mind was a bit deeply lodged in the gutter, after all- though she didn't want him to think she was laughing at him. "Mm, it would be uncomfortable, wouldn't it be? Is _your_ bed a little bit more comfortable?" She asked, winking at him and giggling again. Not that she would, of course, object to sharing a bed with Sherlock. For a moment, her eyes drifted down to his stomach and legs, and she thought of what an absolutely gorgeous form he had. She quickly moved her eyes back up to his eyes, blushing a bit darker. "I've slept on rocks in the middle of the desert, Romeo. I think I can handle a couch." She chuckled and folded her hands in her lap again.

Clearing the lump in his throat nervously, Sherlock turned his eyes again to the window. He feared that soon he'd blush, or even stutter words in an attempt to speak. Resting an elbow on a small ledge on the side of the door, Sherlock leaned forwards and ran a hand through his hair slowly; trying to control the depth of his breath. "Yes. On second thoughts, maybe the couch would be good." he mumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose. _Of all the things possible, Miss Hartford is your weakness? Sort yourself out. _Mycroft's voice said, infecting Sherlock's brain with mocking comments. "But, yes." he continued, trying to regain at least _some_ of his confidence. "My bed is quite comfortable. But I'm not one for sharing." Lifting his head, a smirk became visible on his lips.

Mimicking his smirk and giving him an almost sultry look, Adriana leaned towards him a little bit. "Sharing is caring." She said in a sing-song voice, uncrossing her legs and giggling again- _what are you, a bloody schoolgirl?_ She screamed at herself, blushing darkly- and shifting somewhat. "And you are such a caring person, aren't you, Mr. Holmes?" She teased, then glanced back outside the window. She moved closer to Sherlock and slid a hand onto his knee, continuing to act teasing. She ran her other hand through her hair and wet her lips, wondering for a brief moment if she was taking this too far. Of course, the immediate response her mind offered was _'Nah.' _

Refusing to let his confidence slip again- especially into the hands of Adriana- Sherlock removed a hand from his pocket and rested it gently over hers; his large fingers wrapping from the back to her palm. Leaning closer to her, just close enough so that a whisper would be easily heard, he parted his lips to say "Not necessarily." What a poor attempt at beating her at her own game, he thought. You can't take this on for much longer. Taking advice from himself, he lifted Adriana's hand slowly and removed it from his knee, then leaning away with a smirk and turning to face the window yet again.

A small shiver ran down Adriana's spine at the sensation of his hand wrapping around hers. Her fingers were dwarfed by his, and honestly, it was sort of nice. She was petite in comparison to him- well, she was rather petite anyways- and she had the strangest urge to see how small her hand would look on his chest. She blushed a little bit when he moved her hand away- and smiled shyly- and placed both of her hands in her lap once more, looking pointedly out the window. "You're amazing at flirting." She said with minor sarcasm

The smirk on his face only grew to her words. In a way, he admired her honesty. Primarily sarcastic or not. At least she had the audacity to do so. Ordinary people were just so _boring. _"You think so?" Asked Sherlock, the smirk hanging over his lips and seemingly unwilling to leave at all.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5, everyone! Thank you Jokingly for reviewing, your support is greatly appreciated! All errors in this belong to my evil doppelganger, who smashes the keyboard when I'm not looking. Flames will be used to torch the houses of my enemies, as per usual. Kind of short, probably could be in the last chapter. I'll also upload chapter 6 later today, though :3**

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After what seemed like a rather long journey, the taxi had finally pulled up to 221B Baker Street. Sherlock leaned forwards, giving the driver a handful of coins from his pocket before exiting the car and making his way to the apartment. The door swung open, and Sherlock un-hesitantly slipped off his coat and scarf; hooking them onto the coat rack.

Following after Sherlock without hesitation, Adriana smiled. He was so unlike anyone she had ever met. For one thing, he didn't comment much on her accent- she got _so_ sick of people commenting about it all the time... _yes, yes, yes, _she had a bloody accent- he also was smart, and he was an absolutely gorgeous specimen who was not someone whom Adriana needed to bed in order to get information. She stepped after him into the flat. Once she closed the door behind herself, she reached down and pried off her heels. "Oh my God, these are like medieval flails fastened to my feet." She groaned, letting out a breath of relief as she put her bare feet down on the carpet. "Bloody shoes of death..." She tossed them to the side with conviction.

As he made his way up the staircase, Sherlock glanced to the moaning woman behind him with a smile of amusement. Maybe Adriana wasn't one to keep her opinion to herself, but keeping her pain hidden was something she did quite well. Opening the door to the apartment, Sherlock soon made his way to his chair; seating with legs crossed. And he sighed, bringing a hand to his jawline again, in hope some pain had faded. But unfortunately not, as he flinched. He groaned, and rolled his eyes merely. Only Adriana could've known that a few hours later Sherlock would be sat with a bruise to his face. Caused by no one other than John himself. He sighed softly, dropping his hand, and silently cursing himself and his ignorance.

Climbing up the stairs and sighing at feeling some chafing on her ankles and big toe, Adriana walked past the doorway and up the stairs- she'd left her clothing in John's old bedroom- glancing in at Sherlock for a brief moment. She strode up the staircase to John's room and walked inside. It was a bit weird that she now knew the person who used to live here, but she shrugged it off. She slid off the sequined dress, with much relief, then took off her bra, with some disappointment- what could she say, she thought she looked rather sexy- and changed into her tank top and the leggings she had gotten. Dressed in casual clothing, she then walked back downstairs. "Need some ice for your jaw?" She asked, flopping down on the couch. "Cause you can get it yourself. I'm not planning on moving from this spot for at least three hours." She dragged a blanket off of the back of the couch and laid it over her lower half, yawning.

Sherlock followed Adriana in with his eyes, parting his lips to no objection for some ice. But then sealed them, resting his lips in a firm line to what followed afterwards. _Of course_. What a very_Adriana-like_thing to say, he thought, with an internal eye roll. Leaning an elbow on the arm of the chair he was sat, and resting an index finger firmly on his temple, Sherlock watched Adriana with fair amusement. "Three hours? Only three hours sleep? Surely you'll be sleeping for longer- having now been freed from a prison, of which was highly unpleasant and...violent." Remarked Sherlock, with an eyebrow raised.

Shifting slightly, Adriana wrapped the blanket tighter around her body and half-closed her eyes. "Yeah, three hours without nightmares of said prison. At which point I'll wake up, presumably on the floor or in some contortionist position. Then I'll get up, realize that I'm in a flat and not a prison, probably mutter to myself for a moment, and then pass out again, probably for a longer amount of time. And repeat." She placed her hands behind her head, relaxing and yawning again.

Refusing to feel sympathetic for her, Sherlock uncrossed his legs and stood. "Well, as long as you don't scream." He said, flashing her a smirk. "I'd hate to be woken up." With that, he strolled through into the kitchen; quickly snapping off the lights from the switch as he did so. And he strolled down the small hallway, and into his bedroom. With the door closed, he undressed and stumbled into his bed with a tired groan- devouring his body with sheets and blankets.

Honestly, Adriana hoped that she didn't scream. She hated screaming- it was so girly and weak sounding. With another yawn, she curled up on the couch and wrapped the blanket tightly around herself. She fell asleep rather quickly, feeling absolutely beat from the day's events. She fell asleep at such a quick rate that she barely had time to think about Sherlock, though the last image was that of the gorgeous man's eyes.


	6. Chapter 6

**To make up for the shortness of chapter 5, I bring you chapter 6, NOW INCLUDING the 'I like trains' guy's hat! Doppelganger has kept it up, so I apologize for errors. Reviews are appreciated immensely!**

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Sherlock had fallen asleep without noticing himself in doing so, as the next thing he recalled was specks of light from cracks in his curtains falling over his pillow and onto his eyes. The familiar comfort of the sheets and a pillow to his head soon flooded back memories of the previous day. Of the previous night. And of that somewhat queer girl he had met. Who was currently sleeping on his couch. It took a short while of laying in silence to comprehend everything, and to contemplate why he was so generous as to even allow her in his flat. Finally, Sherlock snapped open his eyes and sat himself up; feeling a short and merely excruciating pain in his jaw.

It ended up being more along the lines of two and a half hours, instead of three. Adriana was suddenly shocked awake by the memory of fishhook-ended whips slashing across her back. She awoke on the floor- well, at least she had been right about something- and put her hand to her back, where a few scars remained, little more than long, thin bumps on her skin. She winced and picked herself up. "God... damn... Serbians..." She murmured, collapsing back down on the couch. "Fucking best thing they ever did was getting me to meet Sherlock..." It took her a moment to realize what she had said, and she blushed fiercely, suddenly quite glad no one was around to hear that.

And so when morning came, Sherlock turned to let his legs fall over the side of the bed. He caught a quick glance from the closed door beside him- nothing audible. Utter silence. Beginning to debate whether or not to stay still for a while- in fear of walking in only to wake a sleeping Adriana-Sherlock stood, the sheets falling from his bare body. Quickly gathering a sheet, wrapping it around his body, Sherlock slowly pulled open the door before walking into the bathroom to shower.

Surprisingly, Adriana found that she only woke up two times. She raised her head, studying the sunlight that streamed in through the window. She yawned and stood up, adjusting her tank top and leggings- both of which had ridden up her limbs slightly. She stood up, adjusting the blanket around her body and yawning again. She walked into the kitchen and put the kettle on, deciding that the least she could do to repay Sherlock for letting her stay here was make tea. She heard the shower running, and suddenly wondered what Sherlock looked like in the shower. First blush of the day- dammit. She folded up the blanket and tossed it onto the couch.

Although having an awful lot to contemplate- as Sherlock did most of his best thinking in the shower, if not whilst composing music- he was out the bathroom in no time. Again with a towel around his waist, he opened the door and walked out to the hallway, perking his ears up to the sound of a boiling kettle. His eyes suddenly became fixated upon Adriana's figure, as he glanced down the hallway towards the kitchen. Resisting an awkward cough, Sherlock ran a hand through his damp hair- trying desperately to conjure up the courage to mention how she needed to find a hotel sometime soon, and how they really should get started on the case given.

While waiting for the kettle to boil, Adriana found herself a bit listless. She didn't like not knowing what to do, so she walked into the living room and fetched John's laptop again. As she waited for the tea, and for Sherlock, she started to do a bit of research on some of the most active terrorist groups in Europe. She didn't get much, irritatingly enough, so she widened her search to include some of the American intelligence. Maybe hacking into a secure database to search for terrorist groups was a good idea, maybe it wasn't. But she could definitely use this information, for both this case, and maybe if she ever needed a favour from MI6. Which was surprisingly common...

Until Adriana was out of sight, only then did Sherlock turn away to his bedroom. Closing the door behind him, he bowed his head and ran a hand frustratingly down his face. "Weakness." he muttered aloud. "It's a weakness." he repeated, in hope that expressing his hate for _love _aloud would solute the horrid mess he had made in his mind. After a short while of standing in utter silence, his brain to its fullest work, Sherlock finally changed into a shirt and trousers; taking one of few silk robes from his closet. He left his bedroom with a blue robe over his shirt, somewhat defining the broadness of his shoulders. Sliding into his seat, he glanced over to Adriana with the most casual yawn he could manage. He presented no 'Good Morning' greeting. Only curiosity towards what she was using the laptop for- perhaps research for the case- so asked "Have you found anything yet?"

Looking up at the detective, Adriana visibly brightened. "Good morning to you too." She said with a small snort. She shifted her laptop to the side and stood up, pouring two mugs of tea and sighing. "You take... two sugars, was it?" She asked, looking over curiously at him, wondering if she had remembered correctly. Personally, she thought that two was an atrocious number- she was very passionate about the right way to make tea, and not having a large amount of sugar was honestly a bad idea- but she supposed she couldn't judge him. "Yeah, I found out a few things. I think we should focus on politicians... there were a few rumors in the American databases about possible 'code reds' as a result of a 'C-89' which I think is Yankee slang for possible trouble in overseas politics."

Stretching his arms over those of the chair, his eyes followed her with some curiosity. "Four." he said somewhat abruptly, forgetting the whole 'Don't-have-anything-in-common-with-her' situation. And he continued to watch her, and listen to her intently. At first, Sherlock resisted a short laugh, not quite agreeing with her theories; but as she continued to explain it, all seemed to make a little more sense. Unfortunately. "American databases?" he questioned, an eyebrow raised. Yes, I suppose what Adriana was implying made _some_ sense, but surely Mycroft would've gathered his suspicious first. ... _Surely_. When finding himself staring for quite the while, Sherlock finally flickered his eyes to the floor, running two fingers along the forming bruise on his jawline. _Damn, Watson must've been angry-_Still nothing Sherlock would ever seem to comprehend, though

Well, at least his way of drinking tea wasn't entirely blasphemous. Adriana stirred four sugar cubes in two mugs and brought one over to Sherlock. She noted that he was touching the bruise on his jaw, and felt a strange pang of guilt. Maybe she should have gotten him an ice pack instead of sleeping. Really, Adriana, he's a grown man and not your responsibility, or anything close to it! She picked up the laptop under one arm and went to sit across from him. "Is there some colossal mistake in all of my research that I didn't see, or something?" She asked, raising an eyebrow to his silence.

Taking the mug offered, and with a short and somewhat sarcastic eye roll after he had taken a first sip, Sherlock just shook his head. "No." he said faintly. The tea to his tongue felt rather satisfactory; many years of being your housemaid- or as Mrs. Hudson herself would put it: 'Landlady'- you'd expect the woman to make your tea exactly how you like it. But no, Mrs. Hudson was always a few sugar cubes short. 'You crazy man, your teeth with rot out of your bloody head!' she'd say. However, this tea just hit the spot- he remarked this with a faint grin, flickering his eyes down to the liquid in the mug. Suddenly, the mobile belonging to Sherlock began to buzz against the fireplace it was rested upon. And in a few quick steps, Sherlock uncrossed his legs and stood; quickly grabbing the phone, then swiftly swiping his thumb across the screen, tea in another hand. "Mm." he muttered to himself, as he flicked through the new photos received. They were of seemingly ordinary citizens of London in which Sherlock liked to keep a close eye on; unless anything suspicious was to take place.

Immediately interested, Adriana let her eyes follow the tall detective, smiling. He moved with such animation- it fascinated her, to a degree. "What is it?" She asked curiously, turning away from him for a brief moment, A small part of her was nagging for her to get a hotel and sort herself out, but a much larger part of her was occupied with the dire situation at hand- that situation being Sherlock- and the case- which she was mostly researching and taking part in because it included getting to hang around Sherlock- so there really wasn't much time to look for a hotel room. Because of the dire situation, and the threat of an imminent terrorist attack. A little bit worried about her infatuated levels, though not entirely caring too much, Adriana took another sip of her tea and carried on studying Sherlock's movements and words.

Having to look twice to Adriana, in order to detect the awful rest she had seemingly had the previous night, Sherlock swiftly dropped his phone into his palm and then shoved it into a trouser pocket. Bringing the mug again to his lips, remaining at his location beside the fireplace, Sherlock raked his eyes briefly along her form as he silently contemplated his answer. Shall he tell her about the homeless network he had assembled? That was, after all, supposed to remain secret. Part of a discreet plan and all. But he felt like he could trust Adriana- and he primarily was curious to her response as he boasted about his intelligent tactics. "I've gathered a homeless network." he said, his lips twitching a smirk slightly. "They're my eyes of the city. Paying close attention so certain individuals." to that, something suddenly flickered in his eyes. Awe? "One of which, being a politician."

This man certainly was far more impressive than Adriana had originally assumed. Though that wasn't saying much, since she had at first thought that this man was some kind of Serbian interrogator, cell rat, or mute/non-English speaking prisoner. She grinned and shifted her position slightly, feeling- again- a bit conspicuous under his gaze. "That's fascinating." She said with a light chuckle. "You've got an army of hobos. I've never even considered trying to amass something like that..." She pressed her lips into a thin line. "The most experience I have with homeless is when a KGB man dressed up as one in order to bash me on the head with a wine bottle. _That _didn't work out too well for him." She giggled and turned back to her laptop. It took her a moment to realize that she had actually giggled- she seemed to be doing a disturbing amount of that nowadays, she thought with a slight grimace- and she cleared her throat. "I've got a way to make this case a little more... _interesting._" She resisted another giggle, and told herself quite strictly to pull it together. "If it is this politician guy, I stay here in this flat with you, because hotel hunting is absolute hell, and I'm starting to get attached. If it isn't, I'll get out of your hair immediately." She said carefully, wondering if this was, perhaps, too bold of a move. Even for her.

There was a thick silence. Heavy with unvoiced comprehension to her words, and slight confusion; none of this evident nor expressed via Sherlock's facial expression, however. That was simply plain. _What on Earth was she implying? _He wondered. His mind began to spiral everywhere at once. It was seemingly too much to contemplate. To comment, or even conjure up an opinion on the whole 'hobo' matter, think deeper into the use of the word 'interesting', ask how in the Hell her staying here would help the case- but overall; she was getting attached? _Attached to what?_ He thought, ignorantly. Sherlock brought the mug again to his lips, eyes unmoving from Adriana. Finally, he settled on asking a somewhat logical question that'd fit within this situation. One that wouldn't flaw him or his title as a High-functioning Sociopath, preferably. "If this is the man we need to suspect...you're in want of staying?" he rose an eyebrow, merely tilting his head in a fashion of confusion. "How would that help the case?" Asked Mr. Holmes, unmeaning to be unpleasant.

In all honesty, Adriana was fairly certain that if he had something to the effect that he suspected her of something like sentiment, or that her briefly mentioned attachment was to _him_, the level of attraction she had to him would have surely gone down. A smile played on her lips, and she rolled her shoulders back. He was simply too adorable in how little he knew of people, and emotions. It wasn't often that she met someone like him- who reminded her of herself at a much younger age, before she learned to game the system- and she found his response rather funny, if not cute. "Excuse you, of course I'm in want of staying. And it's not to help the case. It's because, like I said, hotel hunting is hell- hah, alliteration- and it's also because who _wouldn't _want to stay in a flat with London's greatest detective?" Unable to resist, she threw in a little indignant 'duh?' at the end.

"Anybody to have the misfortune of meeting_ 'London's Greatest Detective'_" he said, mocking her attempted compliment. Sherlock simply pondered her for a while, trying yet again to piece together her character sort of like a jigsaw puzzle. But those were simple, and Adriana, however, was not. Little things, like the small enjoyment of alliteration Sherlock found to be quite queer. Also the hopeful suggestion that he'd allow her to stay at his flat welcomingly, because she didn't want to- in her own words- 'Hotel Hunt'. The little conversation with himself which took place earlier, in his bedroom, seemed to have sunken in. What on Earth was he to think- finding some _interest_ in this woman? Eyes running across her figure again, Sherlock internally shrugged; being somewhat naïve towards the slight curiosity he held for her.

A flicker of genuine surprise fell over Adriana's features, and she rearranged herself to better study Sherlock. "The misfortune?" She echoed. "If I hadn't met you, I would still be rotting away in a Siberian prison. Scratch that- I'd probably be dead." She said in a matter-of-fact tone. Actually, she didn't sound very alarmed to have narrowly escaped death. She stated it rather casually. "And since having met you, I've gone to London, slept without being awoken to be tortured, haven't had to narrowly escape death a second time, nor have I been attacked, hunted, or had to attack or hunt. I also went on a fake date, which was surprisingly nice. So all in all, I would say meeting you has been rather fortunate." She turned back to her tea and laptop, "Low self-esteem much?" She said under her breath.

Slight infuriation overcame Sherlock to her words, as she left the blame of too much _good_ to the man. Being as intelligent and logical as she is, Adriana would've escaped. Maybe not as easily nor as suddenly as they had. But Sherlock was certain she would have eventually. His lips cornered into a somewhat disdainful frown, as he started to the kitchen. When approaching the sink, he flicked his wrist; rather violently letting the remnant of tea fall into the plug hole. "For one thing," he began, resting the now-empty mug on the counter firmly as he turned to her. "You didn't _meet_ me. Not once did I tell you my name. You were merely observant." Biting the inner part of his bottom lip, Sherlock was hesitant to continue, glaring to the back of her. "And if I wished us to be acquainted I would've introduced myself." he finally said, rather sternly. His anger was purely out of the realization that just hit him. That he did, indeed quite like her. And that was a problem, as Sherlock Holmes virtually liked _no one_.

Vulnerability was not a trait that Adriana often allowed herself to indulge in. Though she soon realized, after the sting of the other's words fell on her, that she was, in the end, actually _hurt_. This was somewhat alarming, as Adriana had not been hurt by anyone with words since her school days, when guys would tease her for wearing her hair short or being a weird outcast, and girls would mock her style of clothing, or preference of friends; or lack thereof. She'd realized ages ago that other people's opinions were stupid and didn't matter. So why now were someone's words managing to bring back that sting? The answer was painfully obvious. Because he was implying that he didn't actually fancy her company as much as she fancied his. Or more specifically, how much she fancied him. The clear lack of reciprocation of emotion diluted her attitude slightly, and there was an apparent absence of a comeback as she pondered if she had gone too far with making some sort of bet with him. She certainly felt less wanted here than before. "Right." She said softly.

A momentary disappointment overcame him, as Sherlock was half-expecting something a little more than the response given. And then slowly, the disappointment converted into...guilt? Surely not. At least he had proven his point. Adriana should certainly despise his character; having now expressed such the rude manner he held. She was just slower with the animosity than others, he supposed. Emitting a barely audible sigh from his lips, Sherlock slowly bowed his gaze to the floor beneath his feet. Waiting in anticipation for Adriana to begin searching for a hotel. She was sure to, of course. Lifting his head, the man broadened his shoulders and walked again into the living area in utter silence; until he approached his violin case. Soon, the instrument was resting neatly on his shoulder, and Sherlock had a bow at the ready; in hope a small melody would soothe his aching brain. And perhaps Adrian- _No. No, not at all. Are you mad, man?_ Standing beside one large window, Sherlock abruptly dropped his hand to his side before getting a chance to play- being sternly interrupted by a thought. After a short while of contemplation, again he sighed, slumping his shoulders slightly before occupying the previous straight posture as earlier. And he began a soft melody, closing his eyes as he ran the bow elegantly across the various strings.

To some degree, Adriana was fairly sure that what Sherlock had said had not been entirely to hurt her. Perhaps she was foolish in assuming the best, an activity which she rarely took part in- assuming the worst to the best on a mental numbered list was more her style- but it was very difficult to stay angry at him. Or really, angry. She had once come up with a theory that she had difficulty being angry at people because, in the end, she had been angry at Moriarty for the better part of her life, and most of her actions were driven by that anger. Perhaps all of her wrath had been expended on that. She took a few deep breaths and closed the laptop and laid back, listening to Sherlock play his music. This was the guy who thought his best friend wouldn't mind if he died and then came back. She let out a small breath and leaned her head back on the cushion. Perhaps it was the lovely music, perhaps it was the fact that she had barely slept, but Adriana suddenly found herself dozing off into a light sleep, curled up on the armchair.

This time, the tonality of the tune was a minor; certainly expressing his emotions and train of thought. The way Adriana had suddenly became again concealed, quieter and somewhat frail, suggested that Sherlock's own words offended her. And something inside him couldn't stand to see her so...hurt. Which again, was utterly frustrating. Why did she have to make everything so difficult? The music slowly came to an end, and Sherlock gradually lowered the instrument; resisting a sigh before he spoke. "I just wanted to clarify it being something rather unlucky. To meet me." he muttered, struggling with an apology. Turning to face her, he continued. "So, I'm sor-" slight surprise crossed his face as he noticed Adriana sleeping. And then the surprise turned to embarrassment. And the embarrassment turned to _brief _amusement. As silently as he could, Sherlock returned the instrument to its case, afterwards standing awkwardly for a while in contemplation of what to do- other than stare at the woman, obviously. Though the way she slept was rather adorable. ... _That was a disturbing thought_, he noted mentally. He started to the bookcase, and settled on a book to entertain himself for the while Adriana slept; seating himself nowhere other than his own armchair. And he sat, crossing his legs as he turned open the first page. Coincidentally, something at the door frame caught his attention. A tall, rather stupefied looking man whose eyes rested upon the sleeping woman in John's seat. "Mycroft." Sherlock muttered, slamming shut the book and returning to his feet.

The sudden sound of a book slamming was what made Adriana wake up, in the end, and she started, almost getting to her feet, with a small cry of, "God damn Karachi!" She blushed darkly and cleared her throat, upon realizing where she was and what she was doing. "I mean... hi." She ran a hand through her hair and cleared her throat again, glancing around. She saw Mycroft and barely concealed a groan. She slumped back in her chair and looked over towards him with an extraordinarily bored look in her eyes. She wasn't sure where it had come from- actually, no, she knew exactly where it came from- but she disliked Mycroft. He had a very snaky look in his eyes, and just generally seemed like a bit of a weasel. "What does he want?" She asked, glancing over at Sherlock inquiringly. She didn't want to talk to Mycroft, and she really hoped that by not addressing him directly would irritate him.

Both brothers shot Adriana a look of mere surprise as she awoke; Sherlock's expression was first to melt into something more amused, as he noticed her take note of his brother's presence with annoyance. Sherlock couldn't help but smirk widely, and chuckle a little to her obvious hatred towards Mycroft; who meanwhile stood in silence, with an eyebrow raised, leaning slightly on the walking stick he possessed. After glancing shortly to the other man, Sherlock turned back to Adriana with slightly irritated eyes. "He wants an update on the case." He turned to look back to his brother, and added "I presume." The tall, skinny man just nodded once, glaring spitefully to the seated lady. "But you haven't one, have you? I see you've been...distracted." Said Mycroft, forcing a mocking sort of smirk to his lips. Which soon faded as he continued, the seriousness now heavy. "This is a lethal situation, I don't want any of my colleges thinking I've put it into the hands of _complete _amateurs." he spat, almost speaking through gritted teeth as he looked at each of them with sheer impatience.

Letting out an irritated sigh, Adriana pinched the bridge of her nose. God, he was just _so_ annoying. "Excuse you, punk, I did a bunch of completely legal research." She muttered, and folded her arms over her head. "And I think it's someone close to home. _Your_ home. Politician." She closed her eyes and leaned her head back. How on Earth this highly unpleasant man was related to Sherlock... wait, hadn't she been mad at Sherlock for something? She shook her head slightly, trying to clear the sleepiness out of her mind. No, she wasn't mad at him. That was ridiculous. She yawned lightly and stood up, smoothing her hands down her tank top and leggings. "And he was not distracted. Nor was I. I'm very offended by what you're implying." She yawned again. "I'm going to go and get dressed, so maybe, you know, while I do that, if you could stop being such a punk, that'd be great. 'Cause I'm too tired to deal with your full-on punkness." She mumbled, walking up the stairs and occasionally yawning.

If she was to do so, at least have the decency of using more creative insults, Mycroft thought with a scoff and melodramatic eye roll. When Adriana was completely out of sigh, Mycroft looked down to his brother with disappointment in his eyes. Parting his lips was as far as he got before being interrupted sternly by Sherlock, unable to voice his negative opinion on Adriana. "A politician." he stated, returning to his seat and sitting casually. "One of my _moles_." he said, with sarcastic emphasis on the last word. "Currently, it's just a suspicion. I need to gather more evidence to class him as guilty. But you needn't worry, all shall be over by the end of the day." There was a short pause. And, ignoring Sherlock's words completely, Mycroft strolled in to voice what he had wanted to earlier. "You should visit John later." he muttered, glancing to the bruise beneath his brother's jaw. "Maybe he has calmed. Oh, and while you're at it, tell the girl to sort herself a hotel." As Mycroft shortly gestured his head to the staircase out on the hallway, Sherlock rolled his eyes in a rather vexatious manner. "_The girl _has a name." he muttered, raising an eyebrow. "Adriana Selene Hartford, to be precise." His brother only laughed in reply, resting a hand firmly on his hip; glaring at his brother with queer fascination as he shook his head, in an attempt to comprehend his attitude. Sherlock just shrugged, and turned his attention to the fireplace. Seemingly more interesting that his brother. "I shall update you later. Feel free to leave, now." he quickly added, feeling ridiculous in an attempt to defend someone his brother despised.

Adriana probably could have thought up something better to call Mycroft other than 'punk'- though most of the names that came to mind now were fairly unprintable- had she not just woken up, though she was still berating herself for not coming up with something better. Once she made it up to John's room, she got dressed as quickly as she could in her usual layered outfit and carded her hand through her hair. She sighed and lingered in the doorway after getting her combat boots on, then, on a whim, stuck her gun in the waistband of her leggings. If Mycroft was still there, he might as well know she's armed. Letting out an irritated breath, and trying to clear her head to think of a proper insult, she hurried back downstairs.

"My God..." Mycroft muttered, glaring at his brother in awe. Regaining his posture, the man put weight on his feet instead of the walking stick. And, purposely hearing footsteps getting closer from the upstairs, Mycroft smirked a little as he said "You're in love with her." The other Holmes just rolled his eyes, turning his head and shooting his brother an irritated look. "Don't be absurd!" he snapped, standing. "What on Earth do you expect me to find interest in, in an ignorant rebel such as herself?" Lazily, Mycroft turned his gaze to the woman coming through the doorway, grimacing in a gesture of disgust to her attire. And then he spotted the gun. "I'll be off." he announced, swiftly moving through the doorway, glaring to Adriana as he did so with a smirk.

Feeling a swift and immediate rush of anger and irritation fall over her at seeing Mycroft, and Adriana let out an irritated breath, glaring at him. She decided not to comment upon the 'ignorant rebel' bit that she couldn't help but hear- she was a rebel, she knew that, and was quite proud of it. But she wasn't ignorant, and no matter how painfully clear it was to her that Sherlock's opinion was valuable to her, she would never admit that she was ignorant, or even consider it- though she was honestly a bit more focused on hearing Mycroft suggest that Sherlock was in love with her. Which was impossible, of course. But hearing the suggestion made her heart flutter in a rather painful way. Love was a foreign topic, and one that she much preferred to leave to movies and books and celebrity magazines. "Aw, you're off already? What a pity." She pulled her gun out and twirled it between her fingers, smiling innocently at him.

Keeping his eyes fixed upon her, tension rising as he passed, Mycroft's smirk slowly faded as he indiscreetly and somewhat melodramatically rolled his eyes. Lowering his shoulders slightly as he expressed a sigh of anger, he followed onto say "I have a city to protect." with a sort of spiteful glare shot over his shoulder to Sherlock. Who, by now, had briefly glanced in Adriana's direction before seating himself again into his armchair? He felt rather guilty for saying what he had; but no doubt, it was a good strategy to convince himself into hating Adriana. If others believed, eventually, so would he. With that thought, he took the book he had previously been to read, and opened it; drawing his eyes to the words upon the pages almost instantly. "Goodbye, Mycroft." he said, flatly, eyes still on the page before him. And, hesitantly, the man left.

Forcing a laugh, Adriana sat down across from Sherlock and set the gun to the side. "Punk." She added under her breath as the elder Holmes left. She cleared her throat and ran a hand through her hair. "So." She turned to look over at Sherlock, one eyebrow neatly raised over at him. Unable to help herself, she decided to pose a question. "Ignorant rebel?" She echoed, tilting her head to the side curiously, peering over at him. "The rebel part- I agree with that. But _ignorant_?" She crossed her legs at the ankles and looked over at him with a sort of irritated intrigue.

Eyes momentarily flickering up to the doorway-quickly checking that Mycroft wasn't still lingering- Sherlock returned his eyes to the pages. Although his eyes were briefly scanning paragraph on paragraph, he was silently debating whether or not to elaborate on his attempted insult. He brought a thumb to his lips, wetting it slightly with his tongue before turning a page in the book; clearly ignoring Adriana, now. Having made up his mind on the situation. Despite having a gun in her reach, Sherlock thought her to be handling the whole thing a little well. Maybe a little too well. And so, Sherlock continued to read; letting the silence in which loomed over the room thicken within time.

How Sherlock somehow managed to remain silent in the moments when Adriana most wanted him to speak, and presumably didn't notice that she wanted him to speak... it was some kind of phenomenon, really. Letting out a distinctly aggravated sigh, Adriana stood up. "I'll chalk it up to you trying to convince your brother that we haven't got some kind of secret romance going on. He does talk rather loud, doesn't he?" She dared, raising an eyebrow over at him and crossing her arms, eyes flickering momentarily to the gun on the side table. _You can't just shoot something when you have problems, Adriana_, she told herself.

His focus still seemingly on the book in his grip, Sherlock shifted slightly in his seat; exhaling shortly, when muttering the word "Ridiculous." under his breath. Though he could feel Adriana's disapproving eyes upon him, he tried his upmost best not to lock gazes and stare until she stopped. Again, he turned a page; not even six seconds after the previous. Again, Mr. Holmes found himself rather speechless. He had nothing else to add- even if he did, he'd probably be hesitant with objecting. Which was strange of him to do, considering his character.

Silently contemplating to do something like test out some of the interrogation techniques used on her, though most of them would require something like mechanical tools or torture devices. At least she had gotten him to say 'ridiculous'. "Right, well, I suppose we should both get to work on that terrorist thing, before your gorgon of a brother starts showing up every day." She said, letting out another irritated breath.

After another while of silence, Sherlock finally made some other sort of response. "Mh." he said, slowly closing the book. Rising to his feet, Sherlock made his way to the bookcase to return it. "That _terrorist thing_." he echoed, emphasis on two words in a mocking gesture. He turned to her swiftly, subconsciously looking over her body language and posture; having not glanced to her, not even once, for a while. "Yes, I suppose we shall start on that." There was a pause before he continued. "Where to start..." he murmured, his voice trailing off- partially glad to have something other to focus on, now.

Sighing, Adriana flopped down on the sofa, deciding it was a much better place for sulking than the chair. "Out of curiosity, what do you normally do?" Adriana asked, deciding that the best course of action would be to just move on and ignore both the insult and the lack of reaction. Actually, ignoring a lot of the things that Sherlock said and did seemed like a good idea. "I mean, judging by how much you hate your brother- and it's pretty obvious, by the way- you probably don't take his cases that often. But you're kind of a genius, so you have to find other things to occupy yourself. Like, when I was in that cell, I managed to get to the 1,937,234th digit of the Fibonacci sequence."

Sherlock stared for a while with stiff eyes, again in another silence. Adriana was a genius too, in her own way, he supposed. Nobody he'd ever met, not even himself for that matter, would silently participate in mathematics just for the fun of it. So, in all honesty, he found that small confession to be rather intriguing. He supposed doing mathematics instead of singing aloud, alone, in a cell would keep you sane for longer. But he didn't take_ that _long to admire how her brain works, as he had to put his own to use. "We're doing the case." he stated, turning his eyes to gaze out from the window to his left; desperately needing somewhere else to look. They had hardly anything to go on- to even start the case- but it was highly unlikely for Sherlock to ask his brother for more information.

"You know, Mr. Holmes, I have to say, I find it very annoying how you somehow manage to say the smallest amount when I want you to actually say a lot... and then when I want you to say the smallest amount... Well, same thing. It's frustratingly consistent." Adriana sighed, voicing her thoughts, and tucked her legs up to her chest. "Alright, fine. We're doing this case." She looked up at him, her eyes vaguely analytic. She would never be able to figure him out, that much she knew, but she'd have to try. The way that he managed to analyze her always made her feel as if she had something to prove, and she disliked the sensation.

Snapping his eyes away from the window and back to Adriana, an eyebrow raised, Sherlock turned only to see her glaring back at him attentively. What does he say? 'Sorry'? Rather ironic, really. Considering that's only just _one _word. "Apologies, Miss Hartford," he began; "I have the tendency to think a lot... I think little aloud." Hopefully that'd do, he thought. But from the way she continued to glare at him..._Probably not_. "I don't understand what you'd what me to say." He said truthfully, after a pause; a distant look in his eyes. And she was still staring. Sherlock got a bit uncomfortable. Usually he was the one to stare. He laughed internally when coming to a small realization. Was she trying to take on his deduction skills?

It was almost satisfactory enough to have managed to get an apology out of this stone wall of a man, though Adriana refused to drop her glare that easily. "I don't know. Just... things. Like me. I mean, half the time I barely keep track of what I'm saying, which may or may not be a very bad habit since it makes me more sociable. Most often, I sort of flip off my inner monologue." She shrugged, wondering how she sounded to him. It was something she had never wondered about before, though nowadays, she did seem to be worrying a disturbing amount about what others thought of her. Particularly what one other thought of her, unfortunately. "We're almost opposites in that way. Now that I think about it, a lot of ways. We should get a sitcom."

Still, Sherlock was unsure of how to reply. He struggled to reply correctly to virtually anything this woman said, which was partially another reason why he remained so silent around her. "I don't participate much in social activities." He stated, as though it were clearly patent. "So in consequence I don't talk much." The man continued to stare at Adriana, waiting in a well-hidden anticipation for her response. Or any response, really. "I'm still not seeing your point." He then went on to say, slowly arching an eyebrow in a gesture of curiosity. When thinking about it, Sherlock was taking this conversation a bit too far; considering they had a case to solve, of mass importance, and they shouldn't be wasting _any _time whatsoever. Flickering his eyes over to a greyish, patterned Peruvian hat on his desk, Sherlock smirked a little, approaching it. As he swiftly picked it up, he exclaimed "Let's play a game!" in rather sudden digression, before then tossing it to Adriana. She was intelligent enough to engage in such a game, he presumed. "Of deduction."

"A game?" Adriana repeated, catching the hat in her hands and looking it over once. Of deduction, she echoed in her head. She had a sudden urge to impress this man, one that she found was rather irritating. "You expect me to deduce something from this?" She asked, raising an eyebrow towards him, before looking back down at the hat. She recognized the style and, surprisingly, the material. Llama? No, alpaca. Somewhere in Peru, perhaps... Lima. Definitely Lima. The stitching was neat, and there was a spot on the inside where she could see a small, barely noticeable tag. So it was a tourist's item, not made by hand. Did it belong to a man or a woman? She would certain wear it, but she liked hats, which made her too subjective to analyze it personally. She inspected the inside, finding small blonde hairs along its rim. Man, she decided. She herself had short hair, but it was a matter of likelihood. Anything else? One of the bobbles was a little bit worn down, so she supposed he chewed on it. Out of habit, maybe some kind of attachment to childish habits? It couldn't belong to a child, though, since the size was too large and it was worn at least three years. Kids never hung onto things that long. "Belongs to a blond man... um, it was bought in Lima, Peru, in a souvenir shop. He chews on the left sphere thingy-" Way to be eloquent, Adriana, "but not the right one, so he's probably... um, he might be left handed. He's a creature of habit, and is a little bit juvenile for his age. That's all I got." She tossed it back at him, strangely hoping that he thought that had been alright. She didn't dare ask, of course.

Watching her intently as she examined the hat, Sherlock momentarily thought that Adriana was to be slightly clueless. Maybe it was only he and his brother to participate in games as such, just for the fun. However, Adriana began to speak. And Sherlock was pleasantly surprised and impressed to what she had to say. Snatching the hat from the air, Sherlock glanced down to the article of clothing in his grip, before bringing it to his nose and inhaling shortly. His lips curled in disgust to the awful smell. "Appalling halitosis... The hat holds immense sentiment, as it has been repaired..." There was a short pause, as Sherlock observed the hat some more. His eyes flickered to three merely, certain-to-be-damaged points of the material. Then four..."Five times. The cost of the repairs clearly exceed the cost of the hat itself." He paused for a moment, raising an eyebrow to his own thoughts. "Sentiment would be understandable if repaired three or four times, I suppose. But five? Five is obsessive behavior. Obsessive-compulsive." Sherlock quickly stopped-though he could gladly continue- when realizing he was going on a bit. Then he threw the item back over to Adriana, a small smirk on his face. "Surely you can add to that." he said, folding his arms over his chest as he watched her, desperately waiting for a response.

Catching the hat between both of her hands, Adriana smoothed her thumbs over the material and looked up at him, realizing he expected more from her. She cleared her throat, glancing down at it once more, trying to glimpse something that she, or he, had missed. It was difficult, and she found her mind was actually starting to work for something. That rarely ever seemed to happen. Watching Sherlock deconstruct this item so easily, much faster than her, seemed to pull her train of thought out of its usual cloud of numbers. "Obsessive compulsive?" She repeated. "Whoever this man is, he left the hat here, so... how could that justify OCD behavior?" She asked, somewhat pleased with herself. "No, he's just attached to it. People get that way about cherished things. Maybe it's special because... because he rarely gets out of the country and therefore, getting this from a different country is an important milestone in his life." She tried, deciding to delve into the psychology of this man.

There was a momentary silence before Sherlock made some sort of response. His shoulders slumped- only in the slightest way- as a short sigh of irritation was to omit from his lips. How could he miss such a thing? _It was Adriana, it had to be. Yes. She was quite distracting_. Staring at her for a quick moment or two, Sherlock turned his eyes sharply back to the hat; re-gaining some of his confidence and composure. He cleared his throat awkwardly before speaking. "Isolated, also." The Detective stated, raising his head slightly to amplify the conviction which followed from his small yet seemingly successful observation. His eyes dragged slowly back to meet Adriana's gaze, the tiniest of simper's returning to his lips; as he waited for the expected question: 'What isolation?'

Raising an eyebrow, Adriana tossed the hat back towards him. Isolation, she thought in her mind, trying to figure out where, exactly, he saw that in the hat. She didn't want to admit to being stumped, but eventually, she gave in- as she always, irritatingly seemed to with him- and let out a huff of breath. "And where do you see that?" She asked, tilting her head very slightly to look at him in curiosity. She took a moment to look him up and down once more, trying to pull something out of him like he had from the hat, like some sort of genius magician, but she got nothing. He was so... impossible, sometimes. And infuriating. No matter how hard her mind tried to work, she couldn't get anything from him other than his height, or approximate weight, or size. But those were just numbers, and they hardly meant anything.

"Quite obvious, really." Mumbled Sherlock, his simper growing into a rather mischievous smirk after taking back the hat and looking down to it. After a short while of waiting in silence, he glanced up to Adriana-only to see her staring straight at him, with immense curiosity- and he rose an eyebrow in mere question. Was she trying again to piece him together like a puzzle? He simply echoed the silence which loomed over them both as he thought, before blinking once and urging himself to continue. Placing the hat simply onto his head, Sherlock continued to stare at the woman with a smirk. "No man to be regularly in the company of other's would wear such a thing in public." He remarked, winking briefly as the smirk on his face grew.

The sight of the detective wearing the hat on his head made Adriana grin, and she stifled a laugh. Any concentration she may have scraped together fell apart and she shook her head slightly. "Actually, seeing you in that hat makes me want to hang out with you more." She said, crossing over to it and pulling it off of his head by the bobble on top. "Besides..." She tugged it on over her dark hair, letting the ends flop to her shoulder- God, why was her head so small, she thought with irritation- and the brim hang over her eyes. "Who cares if someone dresses a little bit different? I mean, maybe people like him because of that." She pushed the brim of the hat up her forehead so she could look up properly at him. "Maybe they don't care about him being different." She grinned, a bit slyly. "Why would anyone care?"

In honesty, Sherlock found it rather amusing; as to how Adriana tried her upmost best to play the confident role when looking so small and innocent. His smirk turned to a genuine smile of hilarity as he carefully watched her, noticing how the largeness of the hat only pronounced the seemingly frail character she was. Which Sherlock better knew as otherwise. However, the smile slowly faded from his face as he slowly gathered what she may have been implying. He looked down to her, cocking a head to the side in a gesture of question and curiousness a while before he spoke. "I'm not lonely." He stated, with sincere confidence.

"Did I say you were?" Adriana asked, bringing her lips into a small pout and widening her eyes, the picture of innocence; though it seemed like one of the looks that she would use to get into places she wasn't supposed to be in, or to get information from stubborn people than a sincere look of innocence. "You've got me, haven't you?" She tugged the hat off and tosses it once into the air before catching it again. She cleared her throat. "Whose hat is this, anyways? They must be missing it, considering the established amount of sentiment." She commented, adjourning Sherlock's side to sit down, feeling more than a little proud of herself.

Sherlock remained stood, looking down to Adriana with continuous curiosity. _Well that was a rather odd moment_, he remarked mentally. Swallowing the lump in his throat before continuing, Sherlock snatched the hat from Adriana's grip just before she sat, tossing it onto the desk beside himself. "A client left it." he muttered, trying to recall when exactly he had. For all he knew- or could remember at this moment in time, his mind so abruptly put into a haze-it could've been in the same place for the two years he was away. But there seemed to be no dust so- this morning, maybe? Sherlock did, after all, sleep in a little. Mrs. Hudson could've let the confused little man into the apartment, thinking that Mr. Holmes was already awake. After glaring at the hat for a moment in short and silent contemplation, Sherlock glanced momentarily towards Adriana. "I suppose we'll visit him later- see what he wants." He then muttered, partially to himself.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7, where the writing starts to get better and the drama starts to become evident. 100% organic! Reviews, as usual, are appreciated enormously. Flames will be used to set fire to the rain. **

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"_Or_ we could visit him now because we have nothing else to do." Adriana replied smartly, springing back up. "I mean, it's not as if we're getting any information on the current case just sitting around." She was rather glad that Sherlock worked with private clients instead of the police. Despite her many, many strengths, she was terrible around cops- utterly despised them, of course, not as if she was _afraid_ of them or anything. She cleared her throat and ran her hand through her hair, straightening her jacket and wondering for a moment if bringing the gun was a very good idea. She decided against it a moment later, and looked towards Sherlock with an expectant look.

Still stood in his blue robe, Sherlock caught Adriana's gaze and shortly after briefly glanced over to the kitchen. He hadn't yet eaten, but when thinking about it he wasn't exactly hungry. And apparently nor was Miss Hartford, for that matter. Sherlock looked back to her, a hesitant nod following afterwards. That glare she was giving him... _Very persistent_. The Detective easily slid off his robe, and threw it over onto his armchair; turning his torso half way to do so. "Alright." he muttered, gesturing towards door leading to a staircase. "Let's visit him now." With that, he took the said hat in his grip, and strolled over to open the door; staring at Adriana, in wait for her to walk on first. _Which he never did_. _He wasn't very gentleman-like_. When coming to that realisation, he turned quickly and hurried downstairs himself, expecting her to follow. He swiftly removed his coat and scarf from the coat rack, sliding them on before walking out onto the street.

Grinning, Adriana picked up the hat again and pulled it on over her hair and ears and slid through the doorway before it shut on her, taking a mental note of the fact that Sherlock had held it open for her, and traipsed after him. She pushed a few strands of hair away from her eyes and stood at his side, toes curling in her boots. It was a bit cold out, though she had endured worse, and the most she did against it was wrapping her arms around herself. She did her preliminary scan of the windows in the buildings across the street and behind them, checking for snipers, before turning and looking at the people walking around, wondering if they were concealing anything. Nope, she decided, smiling. "So, cab? Or is he close enough we can walk?"

The icy depth of the late morning breeze pierced the only exposed skin on his face, and Sherlock inhaled shortly to the mere shock of it; squinting his eyes as he looked to and fro, down the roads and streets for an upcoming taxi. When hearing Adriana speak, he turned to glance at her briefly; quickly looking back to Baker Street. Having to look again to notice the hat she wore, he rose an eyebrow, unable to resist a smirk of approval. She was queer, yes. But in a rather humorous way. A way that Sherlock himself, frankly, enjoyed. "We could walk it, I suppose," he began, after noticing Adriana tremble in the faintest way-assuming that to be due to the weather; "But I'd rather take a cab. It's rather my '_thing_'." Most gentlemen would offer one woman suffering from the low temperature of the outdoors his coat, or even his scarf. Sherlock thought they'd know better than to have one in their possession, anyhow, so didn't quite understand the need. Until now. As he felt a mere urge to give her the luxury of warmth. But the taxi was all he could do. All he _would_ do, in order to be discreet of his kindness. And so he turned his focus back to the roads, stepping forward abruptly and raising a hand to hail a cab.

"Oh, well, excuse me, I'd hate to mess up your 'thing'." Adriana rolled her eyes and followed him, feeling a bit bemused at his lack of eloquence, which seemed to be a very sparse happening. A cab pulled up alongside them, and Adriana opened the door for him, in an almost jokingly manner. "My thing is hijacking a gyrocopter but there seem to be a rather painful lack around here, and I deal with it just fine" She added, grinning and climbing into the car after him. She crossed her legs neatly and placed her hands on top of her knees, smirking over at him.

_Well that was the first and last time I'm trying that good-Samaritan thing again._ Thought Sherlock, with a short sigh of disapproval as he sat himself in a seat of the taxi. After muttering the address to the driver, and closing the door behind him, he glanced to Adriana briefly with a hint of confusion and spite. Well, not spite. Never spite. Well, maybe momentarily. Sherlock rolled his eyes internally to his thoughts, looking again to her. "Don't suppose you're going to remove that ridiculous hat anytime soon?" He said, looking to the hat without a smirk of amusement this time; but a glare of...embarrassment? No. Sherlock shifted slightly in his seat, removing a pair of leather gloves from his pocket; somewhat violently shoving them onto either of his hands. Why was he so bothered about the tiniest things Adriana did? God, how irritating. This time, he rolled his eyes physically and not mentally. Probably causing himself to look slightly stupid or insane.

Rolling her eyes upward at the brim of the hat, Adriana smirked. "I wasn't planning on it. Well, until I have to give it back to Mr. Isolation." She glanced out the window and fidgeted the unchewed bobble, wondering if Sherlock would have her play that game of deductions again. She had never really felt as if she had sub-par intelligence, but when she was around him... She glanced over at the dark haired man with mild irritation that was concealed behind her irises. "Do you do that without even trying? Deductions, I mean?" She asked, furrowing her brow. "As in, do you look at me, or that car, or the driver, and immediately know things that someone like me would have to spend ages figuring out, or a normal person wouldn't ever see?"

"Yes." Said Sherlock after a curious pause. Again there was another, as he silently debated whether or not to correct her on one point. That he couldn't deduce everything. For example: _Her_. Sherlock still struggled with Adriana. But he refused to voice it, thinking she'd see lower of him. "It's like a second nature to me." He explained, smirking slightly to his capabilities. "I do wonder what it'd be like in your minds..." He muttered, his voice trailing off as he turned his attention to the window closest to himself. He had noticed that small droplets of water began to fall from the clouds; gradually falling heavier. To this he both sighed and smiled a little. He appreciated rain, it was rather marvelous. The sound was soothing—in fact, he gathered most inspiration from such sounds when composing music. Always attempting to express the relaxing tone in his music. "Must be painfully boring..." He added, glancing over to her with a small simper.

Adriana looked out at the rain, and frowned. She didn't like rain. True, it could be occasionally soothing and it was always meant to be 'cleansing' or whatever, but she hated the idea of cleansing things. Life was meant to be nicked and marked up and damaged, not scoured and changed and... she closed her eyes for a moment, ignoring the rain. It wasn't really about the rain, she knew that. She was thinking about the change in her own life, and all of that. What was it with her and metaphors today? She turned away from the window to distract herself. "It's not boring. Not in my head anyways. I've always wondered what it would be like to be in someone's head who doesn't see everything in a series of numbers."

Allowing his gaze to linger over her still, even when she looked away, Sherlock grew only slightly concerned-no, _curious_- to when she abruptly closed her eyes. She was thinking, he silently pondered, trying again to comprehend her character. But about what? He had no idea. "_Better_." He said, meeting her gaze and replying rather quickly considering the words that left her lips were rather slow. "It's better." He clarified, with a pleasant yet assuring smirk. At 'round about the same time, the cab pulled up to a small building- Sherlock being rather surprised that this man had managed to occupy himself a house. With one short glance to Adriana after paying the driver, Sherlock swung open his door. And when exiting the car, he bowed his head slightly and fidgeted with his collar, pulling it over the back of his neck as he walked up the pathway; trying his best to avoid the rain. He pushed his index finger onto the doorbell, waiting in silence for the door to be opened. Or a small sound to be made. Or something. As he waited impatiently, Sherlock rocked back and forth on his heel, snapping his eyes again to Adriana as she left the taxi and followed on behind him; silently running his eyes over the hat on her head again. Was she wearing the hat just to annoy him, or did she actually quite enjoy it? Even simple things like this Sherlock couldn't seem to come to a conclusion on. She was regularly sarcastic, and adored to prove a point. Yet most times she was serious about certain things he, himself, wouldn't expect. Sherlock snickered slightly to his pointless thoughts, turning his focus back to the closed door before them both.

The rain pelted hard down on her skin as she stepped out of the vehicle, and she winced. Damn rain, she thought, closing her eyes once more for a second. She disliked the feeling it gave her, as if she was just another speck of dirt that it was trying to wash away. She opened her eyes and quickly caught up to where Sherlock was, and took the hat off her head, realizing she would have to return it to the man in a second. She wondered what it would be like to meet him, realize who it was that she had so easily- well, not _really _easily- deduced and figured things about. It was a strange sort of deja-vu, in the end. A slightly heavyweight man opened the door, and the first thing he noticed appeared to be the hat. He didn't comment on it first though. "Mr. Holmes?" He inquired. At the affirmation, he smiled slightly. "My girlfriend's a big fan of yours." Adriana couldn't help but discreetly grin, both at the notion of a girlfriend, and that Sherlock had _fans._

"Girlfriend?!" Exclaimed Sherlock, in mocking question, alongside a short chuckle. Staring straight to the short and rather large-in-weight man at the door, the humored grin on his own lips soon vanished when seeing the slight anger under his insecurities. _Great. Wasn't even in the damn place yet, and already he's quite hated. Ah, well. He wasn't here to make friends, or sign any T-Shirts. _Mr. Holmes cleared his throat, as he continued to glare at the man, and continued as though his earlier thought was not voiced. "So, Mr. Shilcott. How may we be of help?" Said Sherlock, as he strolled in; pushing past the man in a somewhat rude manner. The shorter man stood there, staring to Adriana with question in his eyes after observing his hat in her grip. And then he turned to lead the way for them both, hurrying towards a room filled with toy trains. And a lot of them.

Following after Sherlock, Adriana handed the hat over to the Mr. Shilcott that Sherlock had just spoken to, with a small murmured explanation of why it was in her hands; "You left it at 221 B." There was one small comfort she managed to take from this situation- she decided that Sherlock's rude demeanor was not extended only to herself. After all, if he had said 'girlfriend?!' in such a shocked way, she had to suppose he was not in the custom of making friends. Maybe his words towards her hadn't been personal. "Oh, thanks." Mr. Shilcott replied and tucked the hat into his pocket. "I like trains." He added as he walked into the room after Sherlock. "Yeah, you do." Adriana murmured, glancing around the inside of the room.

After a long while of standing with his hands behind his back, eyes darting about to numerous places around the rather small room, Sherlock had finally come to the conclusion; that the deductions him and Adriana had earlier made were utterly correct. Of course, Sherlock would never doubt himself. But the décor of the room itself expressed said personality of that of the hat, complementary. "Mhhhhmm..." Sherlock said, stretching the word from his lips in a sarcastic emphasis, as the smaller man was only clearly stating the obvious. The small man hurried over to sit at his computer desk, running his fingers swiftly along the keyboard as he muttered something excitedly about his work; something Sherlock clearly found of no interest, as his eyes continued to wander about the room in a manner of boredom. "...I wipe security footage after it's been cleared..." He continued onto saying. "I work on the Tube, the District line, you see..." With a short roll of his eyes, and a heavy sigh, Sherlock leaned forwards to look to the screen he was gesturing to-desperately wanting the bloody man to hurry up, and get onto his point.

It had to be admitted that Adriana liked trains too- just a bit. They were good for counting, at least. The number of cars was never the same on every train, and once one had figured that out, they could calculate how many wheels there were, or how many joules of work it would take a human to move, or a thousand other things. In this room alone, there were a total of 179 cars, which added up to 716 wheels. She realized that the man who liked trains was speaking, and she turned to look at what he was doing. Showing two video clips of the same train, and saying something about them. A man got onto the train in one shot, then didn't get off in the other, despite the fact that there was nowhere else he could've gotten off on- that much Adriana got, though she was a bit intrigued by something else. She immediately registered ten cars on the train the man got onto, and only nine on the one he failed to get off on. "He didn't get off. The car did." She said, most likely interrupting something the man was saying. "See, look..." She pointed to the first screen as it played a loop of the train coming into the station. "Ten. And then there, nine." Mr. Shilcott looked a bit bewildered, and Adriana raised an eyebrow. "Can't you count?" She was tempted to say, though refrained

When witnessing the video clips, Sherlock leaned forwards only slightly to look closer; suddenly fascinated. He had a faint expression of awe on his face, as he stood back, bowing his eyes to the ground and taking a moment or two to comprehend this. _A man gets onto a train, and he doesn't get off. He never gets off. Yet he is no longer there_. He couldn't have jumped, no. The doors were surely secure enough to stay shut. This was a difficult situation to understand- but that's what made it all the more intriguing. Sherlock loved challenges, he simply adored them. And so he entered what he liked to call his Mind Palace. A place where he simply thinks. All logic forms together to create a clear picture of the scenario- thence creating a solution. ..._But no solution was yet devised_. All thoughts abruptly came to a stop when Adriana had pointed out what seemed to be the obvious. Sherlock flickered his eyes curiously over her, raising an eyebrow in mere shock. How did she manage to notice that before himself? Does she have a secret love for trains? Is she a train spotter or something? What?! Sherlock would've spent longer on trying to deduce as to _how _exactly she knew, but he was quickly distracted by the man himself; The Momentary Missing Man on the train. "I know that face." Sherlock stated, staring intently to the computer screen. "Oh!" He exclaimed, bringing his hands from behind his back and clapping them together in a gesture of excitement and realization. "He's the politician." he said to Adriana, a successful and yet more interested smile forming upon his face.

An admittedly large part of Adriana hoped that she had impressed Sherlock somewhat with her number-trained mind, as it had become clear to her- rather fortunately- that he hadn't actually gotten that. Boring inside her mind, hah! She grinned at that, before her eyes widened and she became further elated by the fact that it was the same man from the other case; the one that would determine whether or not she stayed with Sherlock, if he had been as serious about that bet as she had. She nearly jumped in the air, but settled for watching the tape loop once more. "It is? I'm terrible with faces. But whatever. I can't believe that the cases intersected like that! It's so cosmically perfect." She said, smile reaching from either of her ears. She turned to the train man, whose name she had already forgotten. "Where could someone stash a car? That's so interesting, who would think of stealing a whole damn train car?" She asked, motions becoming a bit more animated. "I feel like running or something!" She took a deep breath. "Right, well, back to the topic. Where could someone put a whole entire train car?"

Interlocking his fingers, and keeping two against his lips, Sherlock stared ahead at nothing for a while in thought; a smirk on his face. _Oh, this was all getting so much more interesting_, he thought. His ears perked up slightly to Adriana's response. Particular words implanting into his brain; _I can't believe that the cases intersected like that! _Well, it couldn't be a coincidence. There's no such thing as those. Slowly moving his gaze back to Adriana, Sherlock only slightly rose an eyebrow. As herself and the train obsessive man continued to contemplate as to _where _it had disappeared to, The Detective silently pondered as to _why _it disappeared in the first place. He kept the 'No such thing as coincidences' statement in mind as he thought. One of his 'Moles' were certainly acting suspicious. Two cases linked together- maybe another could? The one Mycroft threw upon them? The imminent terrorist attack? Even if his theory was wrong, Sherlock decided to think into it more. To elaborate on it. "Where would a terrorist plant his bomb?" Sherlock muttered aloud, his eyes glistening slightly as his thoughts whirled. "Well if the terrorist was a politician..." He continued, watching the man upon the screen with his fullest attention. "Ah." Muttered Sherlock slowly. "Ah...Oh, dear." Shooting his eyes to and fro the people before him, Sherlock suddenly demanded "Maps. Lot's, please. All the maps. There has to be _somewhere _it could've stopped." But currently, there was nowhere that seemed somewhat significant.

The train guy immediately pulled open a drawer and started taking out maps of all sizes, which Adriana accepted and rolled up tightly. How could a train car be involved in some sort of terrorist plot? Who would care about blowing up a train tunnel? _Well, that's obvious enough, Adriana, _she thought to herself,_ you know explosives work better underground, silly girl. He's not trying to blow up the tunnel, he's trying to blow up a building. _So it would have to be an important building, and somewhere with some kind of open space beneath it, since C4 could only go so far... She unrolled one of the maps and scanned it, brow furrowed, not finding anything in between the two points that met the expectations. She pressed her lips into a thin line, deciding that Sherlock would most likely figure it out before she did; not that she was giving up of course. "So there's just a car sitting down there, presumably packed with explosives? We need to figure out when it's going to go off, first of all, so we know how much time we have. I don't think we should go after that guy, the politician, quite yet, since he might be working with other people who could set off the bomb. Establishing a motive and the time it'll go off will help us find where it is. Yeah?"

His lips cornered into a brief and rather discreet smile of amusement to the informal 'Yeah' at the end of her brilliant suggestion. _Damn... More admiration_. Sherlock lowered his hands into his pockets, eyes staring to Mr. Shilcott with slight doubt. Maybe they shouldn't be having this discussion around one of his..._fans_. God, how he hated that word. "If you could, Mr. Shilcott, update me if you find any more news on the situation." Said Sherlock, before heading out of the room and toward the exit. "We'll see ourselves out." He was sure to get to work on more voluntary research as soon as they left, you could see the desperation clearly in his eyes, to help Mr. Holmes in _any _way. "A bomb _that _large would be aimed towards numerous people, surely. So maybe we need to look for a gathering of sorts. Presumably between-" Sherlock hesitated for a moment, speaking as they left and started down the street. "Hmm... I don't know. Who would he want to abolish?" The Detective ran a hand over his chin in thought, looking over to Adriana with an eyebrow raised; secretly hoping she'd have some input. He glanced up towards the sky, feeling the droplets of water on his hair again. He was so caught up in thought to notice the rain. Again he stopped abruptly, raising a hand and hailing a cab.

Gathering up the maps that had been given to her, Adriana followed after Sherlock with a small good bye to the train guy. While this excitement wasn't really _her _excitement- which usually contained lots of explosions, gun fire, infiltration, and Kevlar vests (and nothing else, wink wink, she couldn't help but add)- it was rather fun, getting to deduce and put her number-filled head to use. She curled her arm around the map and walked back into the rain with a slight huff, remembering that she hated the rain. It didn't put too much of a damper on her mood, at least. "Well, he's a politician, so I guess... other politicians, right?" She suggested, a bit lamely, hoping it didn't sound too bad. "I hate government, but my experience with it is that everyone in it basically wants to kill everyone else. That's the part of politics I have the most experience in anyways." She shrugged.

With his coat collar covering the most of his neck, Sherlock made his way to the taxi in which pulled up upon the curb of a pathway. He swung open the door swiftly, before seating himself into the far seat. After muttering the address to Baker Street-returning there to involve himself in further contemplation of the matter seemed best at the time-Sherlock roughly ran his hands through his hair, shaking the dampness from the water away from his dark locks. When comfortable, he turned to Adriana with eyes filled with thought. "Mh, yes. I suppose _why _isn't a necessary question right now. We should just focus on stopping them." Needless to say, Sherlock was quite enjoying where this case was headed. What a marvellous thing to come back to. "We should focus more on the _when _and _where_."

Seating herself next to Sherlock, Adriana set the maps in between the both of them and glanced out the window. "Right. There has to be some place in between point 'A' and point 'B' that's big enough to hold a whole train car and not be noticed. Maybe... well, it can't be another tunnel since someone would notice that." She picked up one of the other maps, a slightly older one that only had the tunnels on it and not the stations, and unfurled it on her lap. "Some kind of underground area. A cave or something? No, that's stupid, ignore that." She scanned the map and perked up slightly. "What about this?" She asked, pointing to a tunnel that branched off from her designated 'point A'. "There wasn't a station for it on the other map, I remember, but... maybe it was abandoned. It'd be the perfect place for a bomb. I should remember that..."

Sherlock's attention was completely upon that of the map Adriana was presenting before them both; eyes darting about to all possible routes, all possible places the car could've been hidden. To her suggestion, his eyes looked to the place she was gesturing with a hint of surprise as he observed. "Abandoned?" He repeated, his interest clearly growing. _Yes_, he supposed that'd make sense. "Then that's where we'll look -" When hearing the words that followed, Sherlock's eyes widened; quickly looking down to Adriana with amusement. _I should remember that_, she said. He smirked a little and nodded once, resting back in his seat as the journey continued.

Shifting the map over to both of their laps, Adriana grinned again. She liked shocking people like that; inferring that she needed to actually rely on other people for bomb locations, or that she would ever actually need a bomb location. She felt a small buzz of excitement at the thought of going underground and investigating an abandoned car. Going underground was something that she loved, since it always felt so much more like espionage. "Should we go now? I mean, obviously we should stop at Baker Street so I can get my gun, and, you know, drop off these maps."

Looking out upon the upcoming streets which lead to Baker Street, Sherlock nodded again in agreement; glancing quickly over to the driver, to see if he could've overheard the conversation taking place behind him. Obviously he could have, as he didn't have the radio on. But no, he was too caught up in thought- thinking about something...family related? Ah, yes. Ring on finger and a picture stuck just beside the radio itself. He was of no bother. "I don't think there'd be anybody _to shoot_." Sherlock said, leaving focus of the man and turning to Adriana. "It's hidden for a reason. Why would somebody hide with it? No, this one's smart. They'll be long gone, presumably."

Rolling the map back up tightly, Adriana shrugged. "Just because there's no one to shoot doesn't mean you shouldn't have a gun. I feel much safer carrying one around, personally." She wasn't a gun nut, of course, and disapproved of the thought of every single person carrying a gun, mainly because having a gun was an advantage and if everyone had that advantage... well, it wouldn't really be an advantage any more. And if there was something that Adriana loved, it was having something over other people. "But if you insist, I'll leave the arsenal behind." She said with a small pout of her lips.

_Why was she so discreetly persistent_? He thought. Turning his eyes to her, and shifting in his seat slightly when the map was removed from his lap, Sherlock ran his eyes over Adriana with sincere question. Why did she enjoy weaponry so much? Because of the violence? Did she enjoy the adrenaline rush? The power? The guilt? After a short while of less answers and more questions Sherlock gave up trying to solute an answer and gradually turned away his gaze. "By all means," he began, his voice in a slight mutter; "Bring the gun if you so desperately need it. I just don't _see _a need..." His voice trailing off, he glanced to Adriana with a conceited yet genuine look on his face. "And, you know...I'm intelligent."

The taxi pulled up to 221B, and Sherlock _again _paid _another _cabby before making his way to the entrance. "Mrs. Hudson!" He exclaimed, when entered. His eyes focused intently upon the door at the end of the hallway, and The Detective sighed shortly in indignation. "Mrs. Hudson?" The small woman opened the door to the second call, smiling wide to the sight of him. "Do you have torches?" He asked, with a somewhat surreptitious smirk.

Adriana tried not to laugh at the way that Sherlock demanded Mrs. Hudson, instead of going off and looking for her. He was like that; demanding, but in a cute and almost childish way. For a moment, she couldn't help but compare him to a child standing at the bottom of stairs and yelling for his mother instead of going to look for her. The image brought a smirk to her face, and she tried not to let Sherlock see it, lest he ask what she was thinking about.

She cleared her throat and ran a hand through her hair. "I'm going to get my gun." She said, hurrying up the stairs and still smiling to herself. She located the metal contraption a few moments later and stuffed it into her waistband. She scurried back down the stairs, feeling much happier and much safer. "And don't say anything about my love of guns, alright? Guns have saved my arse more times than humans." She pulled the gun out of her waistband and kissed the barrel of it, grinning before putting it back.

"Oh! Yes, right on in here!" Said Mrs. Hudson, a little too excitedly for Sherlock's own liking; also knowing better than to question the need for torches and a _gun_. With a short glance over his shoulder to the woman hurrying up the staircase, alongside a very discreet eye roll, The Detective followed Mrs. Hudson into the living area of her own apartment. She began searching through what seemed to be three or even five drawers before finding two torches hidden away together- Sherlock wasn't paying a great amount of attention himself to notice the exact number of drawers she had to forage what he had requested, as he was distracted by the undoubtedly queer paintings in which hung upon her walls. Sherlock took a step closer to one, with his hands in his pockets, squinting slightly to make out the picture. It was one of those (what Sherlock titled as) pointless ones, with nothing but colour. No lining to fill, just one big..._mess_. He could deduce people, yes. That was simple. But certain paintings like this just left him bewildered. Nevertheless, within the time of Mrs. Hudson searching, he stood in silence, staring to the painting with attentive eyes. Each stroke of paint was slightly askew, with the heaviest amount of paint nearer the top left; suggesting that the painter was Left handed. Well, quite obviously. Still that was nothing. Sherlock barely sighed, to express the almost-invisible indignation and vex he was currently feeling towards himself and his puny attempts.

Almost in perfect synchronization, Mrs. Hudson presented the torches before Sherlock as Adriana entered the apartment; both pulling him abruptly from focus on the painting. "Ah, thank you." Said Sherlock, taking both objects in the elderly woman's hand, shoving one into his own coat pocket and throwing the other to Adriana. He rose an eyebrow slightly to her kissing the gun, and resisted the urge to smirk, shooting her a look of disapproval and boredom instead. Sherlock started to the exit of the building, leaving a slightly distant Mrs. Hudson to stand in the living area. "Off we go." Muttered Sherlock, with the faintest smirk, before hailing a cab when out upon the street, and giving a destination to be set.

Hand lingering on the handle of the gun for a moment, Adriana waved good-bye to Mrs. Hudson, smiling, and followed after Sherlock. Teaming up was rarely her style, of course; she liked to be alone, for thousands of reasons, the most prominent of which being that she didn't want to get someone else hurt. Enough people had been hurt because of her; her mum died in child birth, her dad died because he was trying to find a way to support the both of them and take care of her at the same time, and pretty much every person who had decided to join Adriana on her over a decade long revenge-driven journey had perished by bullet, knife, or torture device. Mary was an exception, but she hadn't gotten close to Mary. She was close to Sherlock, yes, but... well, he didn't give off the impression of someone who needed to be looked after. He seemed like the sort who would look after _her_. This was, of course, ridiculous, since she didn't need any looking after, and the amount of tenderness that he had shown her only further proved that even if she did need protection or care, he wouldn't give it.

Pulling her jacket down over the gun to hide it slightly, Adriana paused by his side, cracking her neck. The torch she had been thrown was in one hand, loosely held. "So. There's going to be a bomb down there, then?" She asked, clearing her throat. She knew explosives and all, though she was rubbish at setting them and therefore defusing them. "But... I mean, there's not much of a chance it'll go off?"

A malicious smirk spread across Sherlock's face, when seating himself into the taxi. When getting comfortable, he looked over to Adriana with excitement and amusement in his eyes. "I don't know. I'm still unaware of who their target is. It _could _go off, I suppose. We should probably try and get to it before it does, though. Preferably." He spoke nonchalantly, still with the smirk held as they drove over to a train station. The journey wasn't long, and Sherlock didn't spend too much time thinking deep into situations that needed no contemplation, as he'd usually do on a taxi ride- primarily the reason he always remained silent- as his mind was too focused upon _one _situation. They were about to face a bomb, that _nobody else _knew about. It could go off at _any moment_. They were risking their lives. Slipping himself from the taxi, Sherlock made his way down to the station underground with anticipation in his eyes. He simply enjoyed the thrill of it all, the adrenaline in which pumped through his veins at a high rate uncontrollably. It was an immense feeling which he most obviously adored. Sherlock stopped on his step when walking down a narrow hall-like structure, and pulled out his phone; tapping upon the screen briefly, conjuring something surreptitiously. He returned his phone to his coat pocket, and pulled out a torch, staring to the gates beside him with a frown. "So... we need to get in there." He muttered, pointing indiscreetly to the secure iron bars, the curious gazes from passers-by going unnoticed.

"Hang on a moment." Adriana grinned, glad to finally have something to do with herself that was useful. She pulled a bobby pin and a paper clip out of her hair and swiftly unbent both of them, before crouching down next to the lock. She pushed the unbent paperclip in first, all the way, before sliding the bobby pin underneath. She could picture the small cogs and gears of the lock in her mind; it was easy enough, you merely had to push each one of them up in a specific, undetermined order. _Let's try you first_, she thought to herself, pushing the bent, rubber-covered edge of the bobby pin in an upwards motion. Resistance; ah, well, it usually wasn't the first one. She tried the second, then the third, though it was the fourth one that finally gave. Three more options. The second one ended up giving, followed by the first, and then the third; the lock clicked open, and Adriana swung open the door after retrieving her makeshift locks. "After you." She said, smiling over at him with a look of pure delight. God, it had been ages since she had had a nice simple lock to pick, and not one of those ones that snapped on the inside if you made a wrong move. This was really rather interesting, and a tiny bit exciting. While a nicely placed explosion wouldn't go amiss, of course, this was still fairly fun, and the anticipation of being near a bloody _bomb_ made her heart pound.

Spinning the torch in his hand as he watched with mass interest and slight admiration, Sherlock fell slightly impressed to Adriana's many talents. _Yes_, he thought it was a talent. It was something useful. Ordinary people's definition of 'talent' differed hugely from his own- it was primarily for entertainment purposes which Sherlock found ridiculously absurd. The smirk which rested upon his lips when watching her soon faded when she stood, only then realizing of its arrival. "Take your time." He muttered, strolling in before her with his stubbornness still intact despite the momentary veneration. He switched on his torch, letting the light produced from the bulb, mark the path he was taking. Sherlock found himself having to climb around large objects-_abandoned machinery_? - and down a ladder, with struggle in keeping the torch in his grip. Finally, he hopped down to the ground beneath London; a large 'click' of his heels meeting the concrete and echoing through the tunnels. He shone the light onto the track before him, stepping closer with a stupefied expression exploring his face. "I- I don't get it." He muttered, shining the light down the length of the track in a gesture of desperation. "Where is it?!" He exclaimed, in worry that his theory was wrong. Which was surprisingly rare and unusual. Was he set up? Was it a trap? Was whoever he was dealing with of greater intelligence than himself? A sudden shock of anxiousness flew through him, as his eyes ran over the shadows with distress.

Going underground was one thing that Adriana loved. She had her near-nocturnal vision to aide her through the darkness, and there was also the fact that tight spaces were so much fun and one thing that she felt she was skilled in navigating in. There was the constant closeness of the tunnel, which she found was comforting and safe. It was harder to shoot a gun in a tunnel, yes, but with the right mathematical skills- which she possessed- calculating the angle and speed of the bullet was easy enough, and more than once she had shot a wall and had the bullet end up straight in a baddie's chest. She wasn't as distressed as Sherlock at not seeing the train, of course, though it did make her brow furrow in confusion. Figuring that thinking straight was a responsibility that the both of them traded back and forth, she put her hand on his arm. "Calm down, Sherlock. Maybe it's further down?" She suggested, mostly wondering what it would be like to walk on train tracks. She never had before, though she recalled that she had always wanted to. Hopping down into the tracks and avoiding the rails- which she knew were dangerously charged, Adriana turned on her own torch and scanned the area as well, resisting the urge to put her hand in front of it and make a dog shape.

Sighing a sigh of frustration, Sherlock gradually calmed himself before hopping onto the track himself; shining the light down in the opposite direction to Adriana, squinting to focus his eyes. "Why would it be further down?" he muttered, partially to himself as he turned to look in Adriana's direction, having found nothing from his own. Something clicked in his mind, and his eyes widened brightly in realization. "The House of Parliament." he whispered, smirking. "We're just under The House of-" He picked up his pace, walking over to a tunnel, noticing a large device set right in the middle, just as expected. The car. "Do you know of any big events taking place, due there soon?" Questioned Sherlock, turning on his heel swiftly to face Adriana. Of course she wouldn't. She'd never been to London-quite obviously- she was only here having just escaped a prison from Serbia. Why would she know anything of his home? After a short pause, he turned to the car, and jumped lightly onto it; pulling open the door with more effort than he thought needed. His eyes glanced around the car as he entered, in wander. "_I don't see a bomb_." He mumbled, in disapproval.

The House of Parliament, Adriana echoed in her head. Sounded important, she supposed, and followed after him, picking over the tracks in the same fashion that one would skip cracks on a sidewalk. _Break your mother's back_, she thought to herself as they came up to the train. She hopped on, curious, and glanced around. "Probably some meeting or official person visiting, I would guess? Why else would someone want to blow it up, just for kicks?" She flicked the lights on, and let her eyes wander around the interior. "Well..." She pursed her lips, walking to the back of the car, trailing her fingers along the seats. Something caught her eye- a small wire poking out of one of the back of a seat. "Hang on..." She slid her nails behind the back of the seat and tugged it away, then did the same with the seat itself, revealing wires, circuits, and a rather complicated looking bit of electronics. "Well." She repeated, repeating the action on another seat and finding the same thing. "That's that then. The cars a bloody bomb. We're inside a bloody bomb." She said, taking in a deep breath.

Sherlock was silently wandering about the car, shoving his torch into his coat pocket when Adriana was to operate the lights. Though he was quiet, his mind was busy with thought. _Now, where would he hide the bomb? Was it small? Large_? His eyes ran over the ceiling, the floor and then the seats with interest and great focus. "Mh." He muttered in response to Adriana's suggestion, shortly afterwards pulling out his phone in order to use a searching device such as Google or something-or-other to clarify the theory. Though, unsurprisingly, there was no signal, and Sherlock struggled to gather anything. With a sigh, he returned the phone to his pocket as he glanced over to Adriana as she took apart the seats. "What are you-" His eyes flickered with astonishment to the words which followed. And a smirk characteristically met his lips. "Yes, it appears we are." He said, again effortlessly nonchalant. After a while of silence and contemplation, Sherlock bowed his eyes again to the ground, noticing a hatch-like object fitted into the floor. With a short "Mm." Of thought, he crouched and flung it open. It seemed to be the base of the bomb, luckily being switched off and not yet activated. "Well," he said, with a faint sigh; "Found it."

Crouching down next to the center of the bomb, Adriana felt a small shiver run down her spine. It was similar to the sensation that she got when she was on the wrong end of a gun; the whisper of death that came with that cold metal, though on a massive scale. She was at the center of a bomb that, if it were to go off, would envelop her entire being in flame and dioxide and leave her a smoking pile of nothingness, the only trace of her being a finger or something. At the very least, the bomb wasn't ticking or something nerve-wracking like that. She had been close to death before, but never in the sense like this. It was like walking straight up to a battle ax that could leap up and slice your head off if it so pleased. "Right." She breathed, brushing a thumb over a small cluster of wires. She felt the sudden urge to run, learn how to defuse a bomb, and then run back here and take care of the damn thing. It was a new and distasteful sensation to not know what to do, and Adriana felt terribly helpless. She looked up at Sherlock. "Um." She pressed her lips into a thin line. "What do we do?" She asked, hating that she had to say it and knowing it would make Sherlock smirk, but not sure what else there was to be done.

Glancing up to Adriana shortly, Sherlock found her worry and vex in being helpless patently noticeable. And so he took advantage of that, in a curious attempt to amuse himself. A forceful look of concern vibrated from his irises as he continued to stare to the woman opposite him for a moment or two in silence. "I-I don't know." He mumbled, sitting back; staring to the machinery before him with a distant gaze. Again there was another silence as Sherlock made himself out to be deep in thought- though, within that time, a distinct 'click' was sounded, and red block-like numbers began to form upon a small screen over the machine before the both of them. A short flow of genuine panic overcame Sherlock, as he suddenly returned to his feet. He held the expression though he internally smirked, things only starting to get interesting. The numbered were ticking intensely down from five minutes, Sherlock inhaling slowly as it did so. He tugged of his scarf in a gesture of panic, throwing it to the floor before running his falsely trembling hands through his hair in a fashion of stress. "I don't suppose you know how to defuse a bomb?" He asked, looking over to Adriana with a hopeful smile. Curving his feet inwards, Sherlock's amusement only grew. He began to rack his own brain for the answer, just in case they found themselves in a dilemma- this, of course, being anything but a predicament. Sherlock was utterly confident that they'd survive, but refused to make that evident as he remained curious as to how this woman would respond to being so close to death. It was a rather cruel experiment, but nevertheless.

Seeing the red numbers beginning to flash on the screen noticeably made Adriana's heart pound, and she was frozen for a second. Some small part of her assumed that Sherlock would do something about it, since he seemed to be quite a genius and surely would know what to do when trapped in a train car with a bomb ticking, but he seemed to be just as distressed as she was. "Oh my God..." She stammered, eyes wide. "No, no, I don't know how to defuse a bomb. Oh my God, are we... am I...?" She trailed off, taking in a few deep breaths. Was she going to die? Death seemed so unreal; she had escaped it so many times. How could she die from a damn bomb, with barely even a damn fight? Panic filled her eyes and she stumbled back from the bomb a little bit, holding a hand to her chest. "I mean… you're... you're a genius, right? Don't you know how to defuse a bomb?" She asked, looking up at him with an admittedly large amount of fright. Dying this way was so undignified and... well, unjust. There had to be some way for her to fight it, right? She'd fought everything else! There had always been a way out, even if it was hard to find.

The man did all but calm, as he shook his slowly. It was true though, he didn't know how to defuse a bomb. But with a brief glance of observance down to the device, a small off/on switch was detectable to the side; he supposed Adriana was too caught up in fright to notice, now. "Run." He stated, quietly. "Miss Hartford, run!" He exclaimed louder, gesturing over to the door. He was testing her. To see whether she'd be one to become selfish in a time of such need and desperation, or stay and be loyal. Currently, Sherlock was clueless. Utterly and completely to her future decision, yet his eyes urged her to leave. "I'll try and- um-" he fell to his knees, resting a large hand on either side of the machine, discreetly running his fingers over the off switch; putting the timer on pause. With his head bowed, he smirked momentarily in appreciation and mischief, before looking back to her with a sudden digressed apologetic and saddened look. "I'm sorry." He muttered, slowly standing as he wrapped one hand around a knuckle, nervously. "Sorry." He repeated, bowing his gaze slowly to the ground. _Oh, the girl was so afraid. _He thought. He wandered how long it'd take her to notice, curiously snatching a glance up to Adriana to the thought.

_Yeah, sure, I'll run_, Adriana thought sarcastically, and sat down next to Sherlock. She didn't look at the bomb, since the timer was in her head already and was ticking steadily down. It was down to a minute and a half, and Adriana was panicking incredibly. "I'm not leaving, you idiot." She muttered, running a hand through her hair. She'd chosen to come down here and help this man with this damn bomb, and she was going to stick to that decision, even if it meant death. She closed her eyes for a moment. Regrets. Wasn't she supposed to have regrets? Maybe spending her whole life in pursuit of revenge. Maybe never actually doing what she wanted to do, or figuring out what she wanted to do, since she felt she owed some debt to her father. Oh, but she regretted those things all the time. She opened her eyes and glanced over at Sherlock. There was a regret right there, if she ever saw one. Why hadn't she made a move on him anyways? After all, she did make moves on guys she didn't _really _like, just for information, but when it came down to someone that she... _cared _about. Maybe even... no, no, she would not use the L-word. Her mental timer showed that there were about 50 seconds before she, and Sherlock, became little piles of ash. In a sudden motion of panic and desperation, she turned towards him and placed her hands on either side of his face and pressing their lips together.


	8. Chapter 8

**Alright, ya'll- gonna upload chapter 8 and chapter 9 within the same five minutes. Thank you, Emma Carsen, for your kind words regarding this fan fiction, and thank you for reviewing! Flames will be used to burn John Watsons. **

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Sheer astonishment overcame Sherlock as the girl sat beside him and refused to leave. He allowed his shock to be evident as his eyes ran over her, slowly arching an eyebrow as they did so. Well, now he felt slightly empathetic towards her. She wasn't going to leave because she really thought she was going to die. And she accepted that. He saw that then- acceptance of her demise. The man couldn't help but feel only slightly guilty as he continued to stare. Though, in a way it was funny. Surely they'd look back on this situation and laugh. _Surely_. Sherlock parted his lips to mention that everything was quite alright, and to rid of her worry, which would most probably digress into anger. Though, before the words left his mouth, Sherlock found himself being embraced in a kiss laced with passion...From _Adriana_. His eyes widened slightly, Sherlock remaining completely still as she kissed him; surprised she had the audacity to do so. Maybe they won't look back and laugh, he thought. His mind froze suddenly when feeling her lips against his, the softness and delicacy of them together both inexplicable and incomprehensible. When it came to an end, Sherlock remained sat in silence, in a heavily stupefied state. His eyes still open, he looked over Adriana with a short sigh. _Talk about unexpected, and in-deducible_. Only then, multiple lights shone through the windows of the car; revealing a pack of policemen to approach it with torch and gun in hand. Sherlock cleared his throat, standing slowly and brushing down his attire before wrapping his scarf again around his neck. _How was he to say this_? He spoke hesitantly. "There was an off switch." He muttered, rather candidly, with a shrug.

In the brief moment when Adriana expected to feel excruciating pain, and then whatever it was that came after death, she wondered for a moment if she was going to die happy. Eh, getting to kiss Sherlock had been rather nice, though she would've preferred that the timer be somewhere around thirty minutes instead of the limited time that there was, since there were a lot more things she would've preferred to do with Sherlock that didn't quite fit the time period given. Though then there seemed to be a surprising lack of dying, and Adriana wondered if she had miscounted. Impossible. She glanced over at the timer and was shocked to see it frozen at 1:29. She saw a few lights and furrowed her brow, looking up at Sherlock in confusion. "An off switch." She repeated, a rather dark red colour covering her cheeks. She stood up on shaky legs, leaning against part of the wall. God, she had just kissed Sherlock, thinking that she was going to die. Wait, she had been going to die. Sherlock had been having her on, _of course_, and she had sodding kissed him. A torch shone through one of the windows of the car and she furrowed her brow. Dammit, cops, she realized a second later. She was so bad around cops. Something about them made her terribly nervous in a way that no soldier or other law enforcer could. That gave her two things to panic about. _Splendid_. "Right. Off switch. Um. I'm just gonna..." She gestured towards the door, still blushing rather darkly. Frankly, she would rather face cops than Sherlock at this particular moment.

With his hands to his front—the front indicating he was nervous and awkward, held to the back implied he was confident and casual-Sherlock continuously nodded, speaking somewhat at the same time as Adriana. "Yes. Yes, an off switch. Eh-" Again, he cleared his throat, eyes flickering over to the door. "Yes." He repeated, internally kicking himself for losing his composure. His eyes to the ground, Sherlock took this time in an _attempt _to comprehend what had just happened. Adriana thought she was about to die. If one was told they had a limited amount of time until they met their demise, _of course_ they'd explore the unspeakable. Try desperately to live their life to their fullest, so it was not wasted. So they could die happy, perhaps. But Adriana had bloody _kissed _him. It took a moment or two, or three of four, for it all to make _some _sort of sense to him. Sherlock followed on after her, stopping short when met in the presence of policemen. He briefly explained what had happened and who to arrest, leaving a bewildered facial expression on the small crowd before leaving; his own mind in a whirl, but due a completely different topic.

It would make sense for Adriana to be mad at Sherlock, since he was the one who acted as if they were both going to die in a fiery explosion, which was the only thing that prompted her to kiss him, but really, she was much too angry at herself. At the moment, while Sherlock dealt with the damn cops and she hung back with one of her fingers twitching out of nervousness, she was berating herself for spending what she assumed were her last seconds alive with her lips attached to some guy's. Well, except that he wasn't some guy. She was attracted to him, of course, and even though she highly doubted that the feeling was mutual, if she was willing to spend the last few seconds of her life kissing him, then there had to be something there. Once the cops had headed off, Adriana let out a long, relieved breath and started after them, glancing over her shoulder to study Sherlock for a second. "Look, I... I thought I was going to die." She said, putting on a small grin. "You know, I never took you for a practical joker or anything, but that was fairly good. Not as good as my pranks, but still." She cleared her throat, making an effort to bounce back from the awkwardness.

Though at the time it seemed impossible, Sherlock wanted to forget about what had happened completely. But some very minute part of his mind didn't allow him to, implying that he was in denial. That _no_, he didn't want to forget about the kiss _completely_. An uncomfortable shudder ran up his spine to the thought of sentiment, and Sherlock shoved his hands into his coat pocket; looking over to Adriana and observing her attempt at abolishing the happenings of the scene. "Not as good as _your _pranks?" he questioned rhetorically, raising an eyebrow. Shifting on his feet slightly before moving, Sherlock strolled past her to follow the Policemen with an emphasized _'Hmph'_. "I doubt _that_." He gave her a short grin, before pulling himself back up the ladder he had climbed down from. It took a while to find their way about, but finally, The Policemen, Adriana and Sherlock had made it out; soon walking upon the Streets of London again, after dismissing themselves from one another. This time, Sherlock didn't stop to hail a cab. No, he wanted to walk. He so desperately needed a distraction; focusing all he had upon the ice-like breeze which pierced against the skin of his face. Every now and then, he'd glance over to Adriana with a look of diffidence-refusing his mind to get _at all _distracted.

Walking in the knife-like wind, Adriana supposed, was some sort of silent revenge for her having kissed him. She decided she could put up with it, and wrapped her jacket as tightly as she could around herself. She'd gone through worse, she felt the need to continuously remind herself. She could stand this. As they walked, she wondered if Sherlock was irritated with her in any way. After all, she had been thinking this whole time about how she felt about their kiss, and not him. He didn't seem like the sort to go snogging women whenever he fancied, even though it was definitely within his power to do so- at which point, her mind spiraled off into a small rant about how absolutely gorgeous he looked and how perfect his lips had felt until the more sensible side of her slapped the schoolgirl part of her upside the head- and she didn't want to make him uncomfortable or anything. Though he had kissed back, she pointed out to herself, and he hadn't pushed her away or anything. "You're a good kisser." She said, barely thinking about it, mostly wanting to lighten the stiff and irritating silence that hung around them.

_Now, that was somewhat expected_, he thought. Sherlock had figured she'd say something-or-other cocky like that; it's what she seemed to do a lot of. Though, it shouldn't class as _cocky_. She was merely stating an opinion. Flashing her a look of light surprise, his hands shoved deeper into the pockets of his coat as they continued walking. Truthfully, he didn't know how to reply- quickly taking a moment to ponder if he even _should. _His eyes ran over her shortly, quickly noting how the coldness of the night seemed to be affecting her, yet she disregarded it immediately. Was starting a conversation her distraction to enduring such low temperatures? He began to gaze down upon her lips, silently wondering how such a thing could be so pleasurable and intricately delicate- his thoughts stopped abruptly, and Sherlock sharply turned his head to look to the path ahead of them both, eyes slightly wide in shock to his internal words. He cleared his throat, and blinked several times in order to gain back his logical way of thinking. "Well, I'd be offended if you said otherwise." To this, he forcefully cracked a smirk; avoiding to look back to her, unless his thoughts again spiraled out of his control.

It took quite a while for him to respond, Adriana couldn't help but notice, a small grin coming to rest on her features. She cast her eyes downward, trying to prevent the biting cold from getting into her green irises. It didn't do much, but at least she wouldn't be distracted by his Cupid's bow shaped lips or high cheekbones or those gravity-defying curls and _shut up, you are not about to go into another bloody rant about how gorgeous he is. He's pretty, we get it, can you move on?! _She chastised herself, clearing her throat awkwardly and continuing to walk along the pavement. "Heh. I suppose so." She pursed her lips, wondering if she should just curl up and die on the pavement _now_, or wait until it slowly happened over the remainder of their relationship. "You know, I won that bet." She dared, her trail of thought being somewhere along the lines of 'ah, screw it, I've dug my own grave so far, I might as well build a damn coffin as well'. "Politician did it." Of course, he probably wouldn't want her around for very much longer, considering that she had spent her last few seconds alive (or she had thought) with her lips on his, and that might be a bit _too _infatuated seeming for him. She was glad, for a moment, for the presence of the cold; it gave her an excuse to have red cheeks.

"Mm, you did, didn't you?" Muttered Sherlock, his response more fluent than last time; his mind working well, following a well-planned track. "Though, I don't recall shaking on it." It took a while, but finally he dared to turn his gaze back upon Adriana with amusement in his eyes. Though, the amusement dissolved quite suddenly into concern when noticing how much, exactly, the cold had pained her. His eyes lowered to the ground, and he began to think of whether or not he should offer her his coat. One part of his mind exclaimed 'Most definitely _not_!' whilst the other said something along the lines of 'Play the Good Samaritan. It'd be _but _a gesture of kindness.' Sherlock took a moment or two, being pulled to both sides of the argument, and finally settling with an answer. Pulling off his scarf slowly, and shoving it into the pocket of his large coat, Sherlock then slid off the coat itself and presented it before Adriana; still, as they walked. "The silence of your suffering is extremely off-putting." He mumbled, glancing to her briefly in wait, from looking ahead.

Raising an eyebrow in surprise, Adriana accepted the gesture despite how much it wounded her pride, and slid the coat on over her frame. It was much too large, of course, and looked a bit comical, so she settled for keeping it over her shoulders and clutching the sides instead of putting her arms through the sleeves. "Suffering? What suffering?" She asked, glancing up at him innocently and somewhat hoping that he wasn't cold, since she did hate to do the 'no, _you _take it, you need it more; no, _you_, I insist' dance. "I was hardly suffering." She murmured, still reluctant to admit that she had been cold. She was unsure why he cared about the volume at which she conveyed her discomfort in the cold, or why it would be off-putting, but she decided to take it as a compliment and smile. "But thank you."

Sliding his hands into his pockets, Sherlock just nodded once and turned his gaze back ahead. Though, the smallness and innocence in which came across as utterly uncharacteristic was amusing, he refused to stare to Adriana for one second longer. _'A gesture of kindness' _he repeated, mentally. He bowed his head, looking down to his shoes as he smirked lightly to her objection; observing silently to her attempt of protecting her pride. "Slightly clenched fists, protecting your fingers from the cold; also in hope it'd stop the shaking. Protecting your torso with your arms-" He sighed shortly, with an indiscreet roll of his crystal-like eyes; "It was all rather obvious. But I'll continue, if you want." He glanced to her, revealing his smirk. His own hands began to become a little cold themselves, and Sherlock brought his right hand to run through his hair in an attempt to warm it. Having virtually failed, he returned his hand to his pocket, walking past a corner._ One more street until Baker Street_, he thought, squinting his eyes slightly endeavoring to protect them from the piercing breeze.

Blushing darkly, Adriana walked alongside him. "No, you don't have to continue. I get it, you're a genius, and you can be all smart about me being cold." She rolled her eyes and adjusted the coat around her shoulders. "You don't give off the impression of being very altruistic is all." She murmured, striding down the street next to Sherlock, appreciating his coat. He didn't seem like the kind of person to feel empathetic, and yet he had given her his coat. She straightened up a little bit, grinning on the inside. Maybe she was actually a little bit special, then, she thought with a visible grin. She wrapped the coat tighter around herself. "And yet you didn't give me your coat earlier. Maybe I should kiss you more often, huh?" She almost giggled at that, though stifling her schoolgirl self had gotten easier the more she had had to do it.

"Um." The slight mutter of uncertainty was adjourned by a barely audible sigh as they approached 221B; "No." Finalized Sherlock, putting an end to the conversation- though the suggestion brought some interest to him. There was a pause in his mind when realizing that interest, causing Sherlock to stop at the door; his hand upon the handle of the door hesitantly. He glanced to Adriana, looking over her with discreet predilection. "Mm, no." He repeated after a short while, voicing the words aloud to prevent his own thoughts from going any further. Sherlock removed a key from his pocket, and twisted it into the lock of the door, pushing it open before resting it on the key rack to his left. Then, walking up the staircase afterwards, resisting the urge to glance again to the woman behind him.

A small flicker of a smile crossed over Adriana's face, and she followed him back into the flat, shrugging off his coat and hanging it up on the coat rack. "You sure?" She teased lightly, opening her jacket up slightly and heading after him up the staircase. "We saved the House of Parliament from being blown up, maybe we should celebrate. I haven't gotten good and drunk in ages." She smiled and flopped down on the couch, stretching out and looking lazily up at him. She'd already kissed him; she might as well make it clear that she was interested in him and probably flirt with him a lot. It seemed a lot more fun than to do something like stop herself from liking him, which was impossible. Besides, his reaction to flirting was rather adorable, particularly the firmness that he used to deny any attraction to her.

A strict "I'm sure." from Sherlock was sounded down the staircase as he made it to the top. After entering his apartment, he returned his hands to his pockets in another attempt to warm them, thinking that this time he'd succeed as they were now indoors. He strolled over to one of the windows, and stood before Baker Street with a short sigh of relief. He reflected upon it- but more primarily, _life_- as he stood in silence for a transitory moment or two. His thoughts deviated a colossal amount-quickly digressing from 'What if he hadn't of noticed the off switch?' to 'How would he react if Adriana was to _actually _die?'- though they spun quickly into place, like pieces of a jigsaw somewhat, what Adriana had arrived to the sofa. "I don't drink." he lied, over his shoulder, being as reclusive and solitary as one could be. The flask of whiskey and occasional bottle of vodka in his kitchen indicated that he _did _drink, but only rarely would he get drunk. And he feared what he'd do if he _did _get drunk around Adriana, especially tonight. No. He had to be rational.

Grinning and looking up at Sherlock, Adriana ran a hand through her hair. "You don't?" She snorted. "Pity. It's terribly fun. And you know, I've gotten whole flash drives off of winning drinking contests." She sat up, looking over at him with a curious look on her face. He was so _different_ from anyone else that Adriana had liked. She hadn't liked many people, now that she thought about it. Sure, there had been crushes and such in high school, but when she turned 15, all of that just... turned into meaningless flirting. Who cared about boys when there were guns to take apart, places to infiltrate, planes to sneak onto, and a web to be taken apart? But the few times she did meet someone who she was interested in... for example, the traitor-waiting-to-happen in Russia who had forsaken his country willingly because he claimed to love her, and who was handy with a gun, knife, and hand _and_ complimented her: he wasn't a genius, for one thing, and he had been executed for treachery, but he had also been so... stereotypical. Mediocre. And then there was that American spy with the blonde hair and great abs, though he had been an irritating stickler for the rules. But Sherlock... his kindness was infrequent but that made it all the more special, and he was intensely interesting; he was handsome, but didn't flaunt it, and he was good but pragmatic in his solutions. She faltered for a moment as she looked at him and reflected on his qualities. "We've got an entire afternoon to do something in, we might as well celebrate. Or maybe you could call that John Watson over, apologise and such?"

It was found rather odd on how Adriana kept pressing him into conversation, or some sort of activity. Though, Sherlock supposed that he understood that now; it was because she actually _enjoyed _him. She must've found some interest in him, which, needless to say, was incomprehensible for the man himself. And _that_, he despised greatly. His attention perked a little to the mention of John, but that soon flicker of interest flowing through his eyes was followed by an accentuated sigh. Could he really strain himself into attempting another conversation? Could he take another whack to the jaw? "Maybe tomorrow." Muttered Sherlock, his lips curling to an imperceptible angle as he continued with his thoughts. Well, he needed _something _to do-preferably _not _involving Adriana. _Go on, Holmes. It's a celebration_! A sly voice persuaded, echoing in his head. Sherlock could imagine the voice having some sort of malicious smirk to go with the tone, if such a thing was possible. "I'm sure you only suggested that to see me get punched again- for _entertainment _purposes." He said, lips twitching into a small smirk as he kept his back to her. Allowing the smirk to linger for a while, he cleared his throat before slowly turning to face her. He wanted to build up the courage and the audacity to bring up the inexistent bet they had made, and so she should start searching again for a hotel. Truth be told, he so desperately didn't want their relationship to strengthen. He didn't want to partake nor endure himself in sentiment or fondness for one. But he found himself rather speechless when looking upon Adriana, again meeting her gaze to see a high level of curiosity in her own.

Taking on a mock scandalous expression, Adriana held a hand to her chest, widening her eyes and letting her mouth fall open slightly. "See you punched for _entertainment_? My _dear_ Holmes, _I _would _never_!" She said in a sophisticated British accent, before she grinned and leaned back against the couch, crossing her legs loosely. "While the thought hadn't crossed my mind, I suppose it might be a bit interesting to see round 2, though I was more focused on the sake of seeing you reunited with an old friend. Excuse me for trying to be tender for once in my life." She let out a long sigh and made eye contact with him, her green eyes shining. "But fine." She was tempted to hum a few verses from 'Cold as Ice', but figured that he wouldn't know the song, nor understand what she was implying. For a lack of something to do, she scanned the inside of the room, trying to pick up on any little details that she had missed, but found nothing. A small part of her wanted to play that game of deductions again, merely because it was interesting and seemed a good exercise for her mind, though Sherlock didn't seem to be the sort of person to constantly want to do things. He was rather brooding and stroppy, though she viewed it as somewhat cute and rather like a very fluffy cat trying to look angry, and she found that she was actively working to not pat his curly hair.

Resisting the urge to smirk as response, Sherlock remained stood in silence; eyes still lingering over Adriana's form as her gaze explored the apartment. His focus again drifted over to her lips, and Sherlock found himself wondering for a moment what it'd be like to kiss her again. Though he attempted not to think of it that way, it was patently obvious to himself that he _had, _indeed, felt a form of gratification when their lips had met. But if he was to repeat those happenings, the only excuse he'd have was that of his curiosity. But, you know what they say about that; _it killed the cat_. Sighing internally, he moved his focus over to the kitchen-lingering a bit- before moving to the hallway leading to his bedroom. "It has been a rather long day," he began, momentarily flickering his eyes back to Adriana, only now noticing immense emerald colour her eyes held, causing him to awkwardly look away again, in fear he'd get entranced; "And I'm extremely tired. So I'm going to nap." He stated, hesitantly starting to leave the living area and make his way to the room at the end of the corridor.

Resisting the enormous temptation to call after him, 'mind if I join you?' Adriana sighed. "Fine, I'll find some other way to occupy myself than with you." She said, rising from where she was seated and fetching the laptop she had been using. Perhaps now she could examine John Watson's blog properly, she thought, making herself comfortable on the couch and turning the computer on. While she waited for it to turn on completely, she looked around curiously, half-smiling. The skull on the mantelpiece kept catching her eye; oh, and the stacks of paper. She had no idea what they were, of course, though she assumed that they had to do with some case or another, and she wondered for a moment if reading them would be fun, or interesting. It would probably reveal a little bit about him. Then again, reading a blog written by his best friend would also be revealing. The computer booted up and Adriana opened up the blog, scrolling to the bottom and started reading. The first few posts were mostly just about him, and she gathered information from there, but then there was one entry titled 'A Strange Meeting', in which Sherlock made his first appearance. Adriana grinned as she read it, as well as the following one: 'My New Flatmate'. She was rather engrossed in the blog after a while, reading about all of the many cases that they had taken care of together. She liked 'the Geek Interpreter', and the image of Sherlock dressing up as a ninja. She grinned, continuing to read the many posts. The final one was titled 'Many Happy Returns', and she grinned at the irony of the title.

Glancing over his shoulder before he departed from the living area, Sherlock rolled his eyes slightly to her words; being also curious to what she'd engage herself in whilst not in his company. Closing the door softly behind him, Sherlock took a seat upon the edge of his bed, parting his legs slightly and leaning forward; running his fingers through his hair as he took more time to himself to comprehend earlier. _She kissed him, Adriana kissed him_. And now he had the inexplicable want to do the same. Glaring down the floor in vex of the overwhelming emotions he was currently enduring, Sherlock emitted a large and rather greatly audible sigh from his lips. _Pull yourself together, man. There's nothing unusual about a _**_kiss_**. Oh, but that wasn't just a kiss, he thought with impatience as he sat back onto his bed; pulling on his legs effortlessly as he was doing so. He remained staring to the wall opposite him for a while, before sliding down to lay upon the mattress comfortably and closing his eyes. Deciding to put his mind to rest-though he wasn't at all tired- he forced himself into a light slumber, finally drifting off to sleep over about ten to fifteen minutes of trying.

Despite all of the amusement that Adriana got from the blog, there was one vague entry that made her feel a little bit weird. It was simply titled, 'The Woman', and it didn't include anything because of the 'official secrets act'. So Sherlock had had experience with women before, considering what he had written in the comments. She wondered a bit more about it, but decided not to ask him, or dwell on it, since jealousy was highly unbecoming. Instead, she decided to giggle at the picture of Sherlock in a deerstalker- Adriana's affinity for funny hats was acting up- and see if he still had the deerstalker. After a while, she found it resting on a bookshelf and grinned, standing and putting it on over her head and her hair. Realizing after a moment that she was a little bit hungry, she wondered if Sherlock would mind her cooking. She wasn't very good at cooking, though she could do simple things. She ran her hand through her hair and walked into the kitchen. On an afterthought, she decided that music was a good idea. It had been ages that she had listened to the kind of music she liked. She turned on Scorpions, her favorite band, and played the song 'Hit between the Eyes'. She turned the volume way up, sort of wanting to wake Sherlock, and explored the kitchen before finding pasta, which she deemed suitable, and started to boil water.

To the sound of a guitar instrumental-or just that _anything _was sounded other than the lightness of his breathing- Sherlock abruptly sat up in a fashion of shock, knocking the back of his head against that of the bed and letting out a groan to the momentary pain. Bringing a hand to rub the back of his head, he kicked his legs over the side of the bed, struggling to stand. _What on Earth is that racket_? He thought, slowly opening his bedroom door and walking at a steady pace down the hallway; grimacing as the noise became louder when he approached. Glancing over to the source with a violent look of disapproval, Sherlock snapped off the music, turning to look to Adriana; an eyebrow being raised in a gesture of curiosity when seeing her wearing his famous hat. He was stood between the hall and the kitchen, staring at Adriana in silence with an expression being both unfavorable and censured.

About halfway through hearing Klaus Meine sing 'take you right to the danger zone', the music suddenly turned off and Adriana grinned internally, figuring that Sherlock didn't approve of her music tastes, and she had woken him up. Entirely on accident of course. "Good morning, sunshine." She said in a sing-song voice, tipping the deerstalker towards him. "Not a Scorpions fan?" She asked, picking up a wooden spoon and stirring the boiling water for a moment before pouring the dried pasta into it. "I'm cooking, as you can tell. You hungry?" She asked, toes curling in her boots slightly. She wondered if she should bring up how much she had read from John's blog. She turned to look at him, fighting the urge to smooth down his disheveled curls.

"No." Muttered Sherlock, firmly, his weary eyes looking over Adriana as she turned to continue with her cooking. "No, _love_. I'm not." He repeated, stifling a yawn as he turned to the living area. The first thing to catch his attention being the open laptop near the sofa. Approaching it slowly, Sherlock sat down beside it and allowed his eyes to briefly run over the open webpage. _She was reading John's blog?! Of course_. She wouldn't be able to resist. _No one _would-apart from him of course, as he simply despised it. _With all due respect, John_, he mentally said; _It's rather pathetic_. Sherlock was almost ready to turn his gaze away before the title caught his eye: 'The Woman'. She'd been reading of Miss Adler? He smirked a little, glancing over to the kitchen with awe. He wondered how much of it she had supposedly read, sitting back in the sofa and crossing his legs as he continued to stare to-and-from the screen to the kitchen.

The word 'love' echoed in her ears, and she was tongue tied for a brief moment, still not entirely comfortable with that word, nor the connotations. He'd called her that once before, she recalled, and it hadn't bothered her much because she hadn't been attached to him. She cleared her throat and continued stirring. "You know, if you get to call me 'love', I get to come up with a nickname for you." She said smartly, glancing over at him. "What was that one I saw on John's blog?" She asked rhetorically, then pulled the hat off of her hair and tossed it towards him. "Right, Hat-man." She giggled and drained the water out of the pot, before pouring the pasta into a bowl and carrying it into the living room.

His eyes flickered suddenly up to the upcoming hat, in which fell against his chest; causing him to clutch his hands onto it subconsciously. Sherlock looked over to Adriana with an eyebrow raised, rolling his eyes and tossing the hat to the side. "Hat-man." He echoed, with a short sigh. "How very creative." He muttered sarcastically, pushing the screen of the laptop closed. "I presume you're enjoying John's blog, then?" He enquired, looking up to Adriana after moving the laptop aside; an obviously forced smile taking a place to his lips. Taking a moment, he silently wondered if she'd mention The Woman; his internal interest growing slightly to the mental suggestion.

Smiling to herself, Adriana noted Sherlock's own forced smile, and couldn't resist to say, "Holy deductions, hat-man," under her breath, doubting that he would get the reference but still wanting to say it out loud. She took a small bite of her food, glancing up at Sherlock again and noticing that he had noticed she was reading the very vague entry about the 'Woman'. She frowned, wondering what he thought that she was thinking. "Yeah, His writing talents really are extraordinary." She said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Though perhaps they would be better if you didn't have to deal with the Official Secrets Act. I'm gathering from that you've seen some serious shit?" She asked, grinning.

An eyebrow rose merely to the level of informality from Adriana, wondering if he came across the same. _Hopefully not_._ I'm certainly not endeavoring to, anyway_. "Yes, it's something Mycroft insists on; 'For our safety'." He muttered, with a stubborn eye roll. "If he doesn't want anything to be public, I suggests he takes down John's blog. But he didn't like that idea- Well, John didn't anyway. And, I suppose the act was also something to do with the whole _'legal' things Mycroft_ partakes in." Sherlock smirked internally however, to her notice of the act; also noticing how it bothered her slightly. She was curious, and the act was preventing her from being _nosey_. He bowed his head, his internal smirk becoming visible upon his face to the observation.

"That's one of the bonuses of staying off the grid and not associating with anyone. I never have to keep secrets, or deal with red tape." Adriana grinned and took another bite of food. "Of course, by associating with anyone, I mean working for them. Hey, maybe that's why I don't like your brother; he acts like everyone works for him." Looking as if she had just figured out the secret to life, the universe, and everything, Adriana leaned back and continued with her meal, feeling rather content for the first time in probably a while.

A small flicker of amusement crossed in his mind to the small trace of a deduction Adriana had thought to make on his brother. Sherlock's eyes looked then, momentarily, to the food in which she was eating. Earlier, he had only refused the offer because he was still uncomfortable from the happenings of earlier that day, despite the sudden hunger he felt. Usually he'd go for a quick fish and chips somewhere after a case, as it built up his appetite; and having had nothing to eat for a while, his stomach began to groan rather loudly. Sherlock, however, tried his upmost best to ignore it discreetly. "Nobody likes my brother." He stated, a brief smirk of remark forming to his lips. "Or me, in fact. But why would they? I'm sure they only envy our intelligence or the capability to ruin their inexistent lives anyway." Shrugging, he continued to watch Adriana with mere realization. Well _she_ seemed to like him. A lot, actually. How quickly was he to forget?

Rolling her eyes, Adriana set her food to the side for the moment, looking over at him skeptically. "I like how you talk as if I'm your conscience and not an actual living, breathing person." She commented dryly, tilting her head to the side in mock interest. "Please, tell me more about how no one likes you. Not as if anyone would... oh, I don't know, use their last seconds alive to kiss you." She snorted and leaned back in the armchair, seemingly restless. "Though if anyone didn't like you, it's probably because you made some deduction about that they didn't want made, and you knew that they didn't want it made, to you delivered it in a snarky, smart arse tone of voice."

"Well, what else would I be expected to do? Bite my tongue?" With another eye roll, Sherlock 's approaching smirk emitted a rather humored chuckle. His smile slowly faded as he looked over Adriana with an eyebrow slowly rising, eyes flickering momentarily to the food she had rested beside her. "Lost your appetite?" He enquired with hardly any curiosity, trying a somewhat indiscreet attempt to change the subject. As he was again patently suffering from mere discomfort to the mention of _the kiss_.

"No, merely trying to give you my somewhat undivided attention." Adriana picked up the bowl again and resumed eating, as if just to prove a point. "As for biting your tongue..." She shrugged. "I have been a firm believer in an absence of inner monologue, but in your case..." She trailed off, acting as if she was thinking very hard on this subject, mostly just to be funny. Though she doubted that Sherlock would laugh; he didn't really laugh, she noticed.

Jaw dropping slightly, emphasizing the mock offence he was feeling, Sherlock also rose an eyebrow as he glared at Adriana with slight sadness. "Well..." He muttered, facial expression slowly melting into an emotionless and un-readable one. Again. Breaking the short silence which they were both soon to endure, Sherlock's phone began buzzing and beeping abruptly; quickly catching his attention as he removed it from a trouser pocket. Confusion built up within his pale blue eyes, as they focused deeply upon the caller. _John_? Sherlock answered, dismissing the painfully loud ringing sound, looking over to Adriana with uncertainty as he held the phone to his left ear. "Hello? ... Mary?" There was a short pause. The name sounded familiar, but then again all names did to him. And he wasn't so great with remembering titles of people he found no interest of. "Who?" _Mary_. _Mary?_ Oh, yes. The assassin. "Oh... Oh? Send it to me."

About to say something smart about him not being able to come up with a reply, Adriana was abruptly distracted by his conversation on the phone. Mary? What would Mary want from him? How decidedly interesting, she thought, setting her food to the side again and leaning forward in an intrigued motion. She had the gut feeling that they were about to get up and do something, and she had learned to always trust her gut; the notion of doing something more exciting after finding a bomb in a subway, kissing, and totally guessing the perpetrator correctly had her a bit anticipating and anxious, though not entirely in the bad way.

Holding the phone before his face as he read the new message first brought confusion to his eyes, until Mary began speaking again. "St. James the Less." Muttered Sherlock, holding the phone again to his ear. "Stay where you are, Mary. I can assure you John will be fine." With that, he hung up and shoved the phone into his pocket as he quickly returned to his feet. "John's in a bit of trouble," he began, heading down the staircase swiftly, grabbing his coat and swinging it on as he walked out onto Baker Street. _Right_, he thought. _St. James the Less. Church. About 20 minutes by car. No. Too long. But... _**_Perfect_**. "He's at a church." He stated, before stepping forward onto the road, turning sharply and holding out a hand to the spotted motorcycle. He had correctly calculated of the speed in which the vehicle would stop- the driver seemed to have fairly good reflexes, having just turned a corner from afar considerably well- so there was only a minute chance Sherlock would get hit. But, as ever, he was correct. The driver had stopped just before his feet. "Police!" He exclaimed, stepping forward and removing the helmet from one man's head. "I'll need to, ehm...confiscate this from you. You were...speeding." _God, that excuse was utterly laced with uncertainty_.

Already feeling a bit giddy, Adriana raced down the stairs after him, pausing only for a minute to take a few deep breaths. She had done exciting things, yes, but somehow, this felt more... adventurous. Before, she was doing them for revenge, and now, she was running around London to solve cases; save lives and whatnot. It was a different sort of thrill, though one she thoroughly relished. Hurrying outside and quickly catching on to what Sherlock was doing, she cleared her throat and changed to the best Cockney accent she could manage. "Speeding, yes; right proper fools you are! Speed limits are set in place to save lives, and you're just treating them with reckless abandon." She took the helmet off of the passenger's head. "It's scum like you that make me sick... get a cab home, you two, and phone the station later to try and appeal about getting your vehicle back." She said, trying her utmost to sound vaguely official. A few groans of irritation came from the two people and they got off of the vehicle, swearing under their breaths. Adriana hid a grin.

A faint glance coming hand-in-hand with a smirk of approval and amusement was flashed from Sherlock, before sitting upon the motorcycle with the already-live engine. He slid the helmet taken over his head, pushing those darkened curls of his to either sides of his face. God, he hated helmets like these. They were so uncomfortable. Watching Adriana with hidden admiration, Sherlock couldn't help but feel slightly _impressed_. Slightly _relieved_, as she had confirmed his sort of wobbly plan. Though, the most he did to make it evident was give the said bright-eyes and simple simper. Resting either hand upon the handles of the vehicle, he wrapped around his fingers tightly and twisted firmly to hear the engine growl. Though he was brought slight discomfort to the essential attire in order to ride this device, he was-needless to say- patently excited. "Right." He muttered, once the two motorcyclists were out of sight; "St. James the Less." In a split second, Sherlock returned to his Mind Palace, deciding on the quickest possible routes to the church. They'd have to take some...shortcuts, he decided, after mapping out the way in his head. Every corner and every road of London was perfectly implanted in his brain, with no faults whatsoever. He knew London from the inside-out. After the shortest of moment, he turned to Adriana with a hardly visible grin. "Hold on tight."

Pulling the black helmet over her short hair and obscuring her features slightly, Adriana couldn't help but think this was a rather inconvenient piece of head wear, and she was fairly sure she looked the tiniest bit Stormtrooper-ish. At least she could shoot properly, she thought to herself, climbing onto the motorcycle behind Sherlock. Her grin was concealed by the helmet for the moment, though that was probably good since it was a tad manic. At the words 'hold on tight', she pondered whether or not Sherlock had seen very many movies, since that was _such _a cliché thing to say when on a motorcycle. "Ha, as if I was going to fall off." She scoffed, though she could hardly resist doing exactly that and wrapping her arms loosely around his sides. Her toes curled in her boots slightly, and she grinned again, glad for the helmet obscuring her blush at the close contact. Maybe the thrill of speed would distract her from how toned his muscles were and how she would really love to see him with his shirt off and _God, I sound like a damn bloody schoolgirl again, _she thought, cutting her monologue short.

There was a moment of hesitation before the motorcycle moved, as Sherlock found himself to be suddenly distracted by Adriana's petite arms around his waist. Her hands over the material of his clothing, and _John is in danger, and you're lost in a bizarre day dream about what? A girl?_ To that, Sherlock allowed the motor to growl once more before taking off down the street. He had to clear his throat, and blink several times in order to re-gain his way of thinking. _Okay. A left here. Another left. And_- Sherlock abruptly came to a stop, the motorcycle tilting to the side as he pushed down a foot to the ground to maintain the balance. "**Really**?" He muttered under his breath, when finding himself in a row of traffic due to a disabled road. Many police cars infected the scene, alongside Policemen themselves trying their best to organize the chaos. His plan was ruined, and it took a stressful while of vex and mere panic to conjure a new one. His eyes darted about suddenly, looking for possible places he could cut through. If he went fast enough he wouldn't be caught. And if he took a route where cars couldn't exactly follow- A staircase to his left caught his attention, causing him to smirk a little. Without another word said, or no warning, Sherlock re-started on his path, turning the vehicle sharply, dodging a few posts in order to drive down stone steps ahead; ignoring the many shouts and impatient demands from behind coming from the policemen.

Adriana had only ever been on a vehicle such as this two times; and both times, she was driving. It was a bit different to be the passenger, and she found it was very difficult not to scream or exclaim at the speed and amount of bumps in the road. Of course, once they started going down the stairs, she couldn't help but laugh a bit, though the sound was muffled by her helmet. Another thing about being the passenger was that you certainly felt less secure, and she ended up tightening her arms around Sherlock's abdomen out of fear of falling off, instead of to be able to feel his fashionable leanness. She watched London out of the corner of her eye, but most of what she saw were flashes of street lamps and lit up windows, or the occasional parked car or person. It was slightly incredible that Sherlock was able to navigate so easily; she had been terrible at driving these things both of the times that she had to, mainly because it much more appealed for her to find ramps to fly off of, or figure out how to do a wheelie in one... the one with the mounted machine gun had been a bit of a different case, since it was so tempting to mow down everything with bullets. The detective's restraint was only one part of this that impressed her; the other part was that he seemed to have all of London memorized, which she could never manage to do. And, of course, another thing that impressed her was the general hotness of the area of his abdomen that she had her arms around.

There was an area near the church they were finally approaching, it was in the center of the street and currently it seemed rather busy. A gathering of sorts, with children and families-something Sherlock couldn't help but grimace internally with discomfort towards, as he had never been one for a Family Filled with Sentiment-in which were surrounding an un-lit bonfire. Sherlock squinted to make out the blurred image, and suddenly came to a stop upon the motorcycle. His eyes flickered elsewhere, and towards the church- which seemed empty at the time. He flicked off the engine, and pulled the helmet from his head, eyes moving about to various places in search for John. "I don't...I don't understand." Mumbled Sherlock, partially to himself. A part of his mind was much too focused upon Adriana and her tightened grip around his waist, causing him to inhale slowly in an attempt to abolish such a thought. He cleared his throat again, holding the helmet on his lap, eyes returning to the bonfire. By now, a somewhat short man with torso hidden in a large and dull-green coat had approached the bonfire with a torch in order to light it. The flame caught on almost suddenly, spreading across in a way Sherlock admired. Though the admiration of the fire didn't last too long, as children began to scream to a groaning from inside. Sherlock's eyes widened suddenly in panic, and he dropped the helmet to the floor, abandoning the motorcycle and hurrying over to the crowd himself; exclaiming "Move! Move! Move out the way!" In an extremely rude fashion as he pushed his way past all of the people. In this moment he thought them to be all **_pathetic_**. _Just standing there when a man could be burning to his death? What good would screaming do? _Each push became more violent with each thought until he finally approached the bonfire, scalding his hands when taking it apart un-hesitantly.

Admittedly, Adriana was frozen for a moment when Sherlock was already in action. She rarely ever froze up, of course, but churches were a particular sore subject with her; not as if she would discuss why with anyone, since 'my Da was buried next to one' seemed like a poor excuse, since lots of people were buried by churches. Though she didn't know why. Back when she actually remotely cared about religion, and would go to church each Sunday, she had to look at his grave. The constant, painful reminder was so unnecessary and she slowly grew to associate churches with death and loss. Maybe, in a way, everyone did, since so many people turned to religion after their loved ones passed. She didn't know how they could stand it; being told that the ones they loved either had gone to a paradise where they could be happy and live forever in bliss, or receive eternal damnation. How did they even decide? What sort of jury would her father face, if there was an afterlife? She didn't like to think of him being accused and picked apart by floaty beings with halos, harps, and wings. Turning her attention as quickly as possible to the bonfire and what was going on, it registered in her that John was being burned alive, and- thoughts of religion forgone- she tossed the helmet to the side and followed Sherlock's path of pushed aside people. The heat from the flames immediately hit her, though she had felt the sting of burning metal before (some triads had the oddest initiation traditions) and was able to ignore it. She knew in a moment that Sherlock's hands were probably going to be burned terribly, and she needed to help him before he did permanent damage. She kicked away some of the burning wood, wincing as heat seared through her combat boots, until she managed to spot a leg. Good God, what sort of sicko did this, she thought, eyes widening in horror. The young woman pushed away more of the wood, until she saw John's arm, which she immediately grabbed and started to pull from the flaming wreckage, her heart pounding.

The flames penetrating his gloves and slicing violently across his flesh didn't cause Sherlock too much bother at the time, as he was simply too focused upon saving John. He was distracted momentarily by the demolishing of the fiery bonfire to notice how Adriana was already tugging away John to safety. Instantly, Sherlock fell to his knees, grabbing John's other arm and pulling away the groaning man from any danger. "John!" Gasped Sherlock when he was at a safe enough distance, soon falling backwards and letting out a relieved sigh. John, looking up to the blurred faced before him, squinted his eyes and groaned again, trying his up-most best to move a hand or even mutter word; though he struggled immensely when discovering he couldn't even part his lips._ I don't know what to do_, thought Sherlock in a motion of panic. Home or hospital? He glanced up to Adriana with a somewhat expectant gaze. Sherlock only ever saved lives by solving a murder, or-only recently-defusing bombs. He had never _literally _done so. And so now, he pushed himself to maintain a crouched position as he looked over John again briefly before looking back to Miss. Hartford. _Surely she had a better idea of what to do_. After a short moment of panic, and realizing he looked rather confused and helpless, Sherlock stood and removed the phone from his pocket; taking a few steps away so the future phone call wouldn't drown in the sound of the crowd fussing about behind him. He called Mary, to inform her that John was soon to be admitted to a hospital; alongside a somewhat curt explanation as to why he was heading there. He didn't bother with calling the ambulance, gathering that at least one-or two, or three or four!-stupefied person in the crowd had done so already.

It was difficult not to panic. Possibly smoked or burned man on the ground, Sherlock not knowing what to do (which always scared Adriana) and a bunch of religious freaks surrounding them. Sinking to her knees next to the blond, she gripped his wrist and checked his pulse; fast, though that was expected. Alright; he was alright. She sat up slightly and ran a hand through her hair, trying to think. She had nothing to help burns, of course; nor did she have a mobile, so she couldn't call an ambulance, though one of these heartless people who had just stood there and _watched_ while a man burned alive inside of a bonfire had probably picked up their mobiles and called for help. Honestly... Religion, she thought, rolling her eyes and turning her attention back over to John. The adrenaline as slowly draining out of her, and she was starting to realize how much her foot hurt. Ice and cold water, she thought vaguely, pressing her fingers against the gap in her leather boots, where her skin was searing painfully. "We'll get you to hospital, alright? Er, you'll be fine." She tried her hand at comforting, and found that she wasn't too good at it. She looked up at Sherlock and realized he was on the phone with Mary; naturally, this _was _her fiancé. She didn't seem like the marriage type; people in Adriana's line of work rarely seemed to be. For a brief moment, she wondered if it would be some sort of Mr. and Mrs. Smith sort of marriage between them, except that John wasn't an assassin as well. Pity… that might have been interesting.

The injured doctor laying upon the ground, and flinching slightly as he attempted to re-gain the focus upon his eyes, looked upon Adriana with confusion. "W-who are you?" He managed to choke out, mere fear in his voice, considering he was previously so recklessly drugged and thrown into a bonfire to slowly burn and die a painful death by the unknown. Yet, this woman seemed to be comforting him... And...She had, after all just saved him. Along with Sherlock. ... _Sherlock_?! Mr. Holmes returned shortly, crouching beside his comrade with a sigh. "An ambulance is coming, John. Mary will be with you soon, when you arrive at the hospital." Sherlock briefly glanced up to Adriana, the faintest look of gratitude in his eyes for her help. He took a moment or so to ponder as to why she had helped in the first place. John was but a stranger to her and- ah... but she was fond of Sherlock, and therefore wished to help his only friend. Either that or she was just a _really _big fan of his blog. Not long after the phone call and seeing to John, an ambulance and few police cars approached the street with excruciatingly ear-piercing loud sirens. Paramedics exited their vehicles and aided the wounded man instantly, leaving Sherlock to stand and step away from the scene; avoiding as much attention as possible, as he simply despised hospitals. He took his hands behind his back, and stood with broad shoulders in order to keep the wounds hidden as he looked upon each of them with in-evident concern; quickly regaining his composure and conviction from the previous frenzy of panic.

Deciding it would be better to not offer an introduction, as John needed to focus more on his own health than her identity, Adriana drew away in order to let Sherlock take over comforting, and strode over to the sidelines to check on herself. A pity about her boot, since she rather had liked this pair, though she had snatched one of the religious freaks' credit cards, and figured she could easily go and buy another pair. More of a pity about the skin on her foot, which was red and slightly inflamed. She'd endured worse, though, she told herself, and decided to ice it when she got back to the flat but not mention it to Sherlock, at risk of sounding like he was complaining. When the paramedics arrived, she joined the dark-haired man's side and watched the display with disguised disgust. Hospitals were... no. The sterile environment, the bright lights, the smell of sickness... she would rather be treated in an army bunker, or hiding in some closet or obscure abandoned building by herself. She was the only doctor she trusted, anyways. "Well. That was exciting." She said, looking up at Sherlock with a small grin on her face. It faded after a moment, when she recalled the severity of what was going on. "Are you alright? You were touching flaming wood with your hands; gloves can't protect them that much." She nodded towards his hands in his pockets and furrowed her brow. She wondered if he was like her, in the way that he didn't want to be treated by anyone other than himself. The idea of playing nurse to him was somewhat interesting, and made her smile a bit.

From looking ahead, Sherlock twitched his sight over towards Adriana with some form of stubbornness in his eyes, arching an eyebrow as he did so. "Yes. Yes, I'm fine." He said firmly, before clenching his hands into fists when in his pockets and grimacing internally toward the pain. _That's sure to leave some sort of scar_. He mentally remarked with an accentuated sigh on the inside. "Let's go back to the apartment."


	9. Chapter 9

Once John was out of sight, and removed from the scene via an ambulance, Sherlock turned swiftly onto a road to hail a cab; forgetting the motorcycle purposely. It was stolen, after all, and he was in no shape to _drive_. During the cab ride, however, Mr. Holmes couldn't help but to feel slightly uncomfortable towards Adriana's concern for him. But even more, his concern for her. Only once when in the taxi did he glance to her, quickly detecting few wounds she did well to disregard for the time being. His mind went blank for a while, struggling to comprehend his mere worry for her health. But before his anxiousness could go any further, or even become evident, the car had pulled up to 221B, and with no hesitation Sherlock paid the drive and left. Staying in an enclosed space with all of his thoughts, and with _Adriana _made him again utterly uncomfortable. Well, he put it down to discomfort, as he wasn't exactly too sure in what he felt. Thence, feeling vulnerable for not knowing. Entering the building, Sherlock kept his hands inside his pockets, and his coat firmly around his torso as he marched upstairs and down a hallway into the bathroom without one word said. When the door was closed, only then did he pull off his gloves with some difficulty; some part of the material attaching itself to his skin. This caused him to flinch in pain, yet he did not make a sound as he twisted the tap and held his hands under the coldness of the water- which, actually, didn't feel cold at all when coming to contact with the wound. It felt more like one thousand blades digging deeper into his palm.

Throughout their journey back to 221 B, Adriana could sense a sort of intangible tension between the both of them. She wasn't sure whether or not it came from her, or from him, or it was a collaboration on both of their parts, but it was there. She held her tongue, figuring that she had somehow upset him by worrying about his wounds. They had to be painful, but he was still hiding them and acting as if they didn't exist. Why? It wasn't as if showing that he had gotten burned was some sort of humiliation or weakness, especially when she could probably help him. A moment after these thoughts came to her, she realized that she was doing the exact same thing; not telling him about her foot, acting as if it didn't exist; she was certain if he were to ask her about it, she would deny it adamantly. Maybe it was a pride thing. When they finally got back to the flat, she noticed his haste, and figured he was probably going to treat himself. Well, she was intending to as well; it was a bit alarming to see the reproduction of one of her idiosyncrasies. She hurried after him and paused in the foyer, shrugging off her jacket and hanging it up. She decided that, while running it under cold water sounded lovely, her burn needed to go down in inflammation, so... ice first. And possibly sleep, since she was exhausted. She walked upstairs, flinching slightly at each step, and let out a small sigh of relief when she sat down on the couch. Somewhat regretting her decision to kick a fire- though not as if there had been some other way- Adriana pulled off each of her boots, starting with the un-singed one before moving onto the other. It was excruciatingly painful, and she didn't have much to distract herself with, so she fell back on her usual distraction as she peeled the leather away from her skin. "0, 1, 1, 3, 5, 8..." She muttered under her breath, managing to pull the boot off of her leg. She stood up, raising her injured foot and limping into the kitchen. "13, 21, 34, 55, 89..." She opened the freezer and located an ice pack, pulling it out and returning to the couch. Pausing in her numerical stream of consciousness for a moment, she sat down and pressed the ice against the burn; it immediately spiked pain through her leg. She nearly cried out, though she muffled it with a strict "144, 233, 377, 610..." And pressed the ice more firmly against her burn. She took a deep breath and laid against the arm rest, closing her eyes. "987, 1597, 2584." In the end, numbers didn't do very much, and she was still in a rather large amount of pain.

Pulling away his hands rather abruptly from the running water, Sherlock took on a crouched position as he fumbled through various cupboards looking for some sort of medical supply. Finally he found a form of wipes laced with alcohol, un-hesitantly grabbing them and applying them to his wounds. His eyes slammed shut to the pain, and he remained for a while in silence; sat upon the bathroom floor with a cloth against the open flesh. It took only a short while to realize such the _coward _he was being, and so he took some bandages and wrapped them roughly around his palm before disposing of the tattered gloves and walking into the hallway. He entered his bedroom and returned to the hallway imminently without his coat, soon walking towards the kitchen in search for more objects which could aid him. As always, he found virtually nothing, and so settled for one or two painkillers. Or three or four. Or five or six. As he was taking the pills with a glass of water-hands trembling, spilling small droplets of the liquid over sides of the glass itself-Sherlock heard faint mumbles coming from the living area; of _numbers_? Was Adriana really occupying herself with that Fibonacci sequence again? Walking steadily towards the living area, Sherlock flickered his eyes around the corner of a wall only to spot the woman leaning over the sofa in... agony? Sherlock found himself staring for a while, feeling somewhat _sympathetic_. Sympathy? Of course not, no you're mistaken. Though after moment of contemplation the emotion was confirmed as just that. Sympathy. She looked almost as if she were about to cry-but how uncharacteristic that'd be, he thought with an internal simper-and though he was now capable of experiencing such an emotion, he didn't quite know how to go about it. How to _comfort_. So he just stood in silence, watching the suffering woman with emotionless eyes; a hint of confusion behind his irises. 'You have to do _something_!' one voice exclaimed, as another replied with 'No you don't! _Not _your fault" 'Actually, it was-' Sherlock cut of the mental argument with himself the instant he realized he was doing so, and sighed briefly before strolling into the room himself. Standing before Adriana, he looked down to her with a vacant and still expression upon his face, a glass in his hand. "Do you need to go to a hospital?" He voiced, hiding his concern well with the rather candid question; though the answer was patently obvious-of course she did, yet of course she'd respond with a somewhat stern 'No.' of denial. She didn't seem too fond of hospitals, remembering how she muttered something brief of her disapproval for doctors back when they had returned from Serbia. Evidently narrowing his eyes in a gesture of uncertainty and slight surprise, Sherlock silently questioned why he had remembered such. He put that down to 'You remember everything. You're a genius.'

While silently thinking about how much better it would be if she could get her tear ducts surgically removed, Adriana was suddenly startled back into pain by the sound of Sherlock's voice; she blushed immediately, embarrassed by her weakness. She forced her pained expression into a more normal one and cleared her throat. "4181..." She cut herself off and shook her head slightly. "No, that's not right. Sorry." It was a bit like speaking a language for a long while and then being asked a question in English and responding in the other language. Her mind switched from speaking words to speaking numbers. Of course, numbers had always been easier than words. "No, I don't need a hospital. The last thing I need is a bloody hospital." She muttered, shifting her position slightly and pressing the ice harder against her burn; it caused her to inhale sharply, though she didn't betray much more pain than that; she refused to when Sherlock was present. Stubbornness had always been one of her greatest tools, after all. She placed her ankle on her knee and tried to focus on Sherlock instead of the searing pain going through her. "Besides, it's just a little burn." She cleared her throat, tilting her head to the side and studying the man. "I've had worse." She looked down at her foot and removed the ice for a moment, flinching at the sight of the skin. "Son of a..." She muttered. Definitely going to scar, she thought with a small wince. Despite this, she masked her expression again and looked up at Sherlock with a curt expression. "Do _you _need to go to the hospital?"

There was nothing but silence coming from Sherlock in which followed on after her question, as he took careful parts of that silence to think of the following: _4181, yes, surely that was correct._ He was quite certain that number was in the sequence anyway. Though he was partially unsure of how he knew that at all, and so racked his brain for the following answers._ 6765, 10946- Hmm, must've picked it up somewhere_. And then The Detective went again onto thinking of the pain Adriana must've been enduring. _'I've had worse' _she said, whilst putting on a brave face. Sherlock grinned a little, taking another sip from his water as he watched her. _Don't want to seem too frail around me, no_? However, his eyes sparked up a little to the reflected question in which he was soon to abolish. Sherlock inhaled shortly before exhaling the words through his lips, walking over to take a seat beside Adriana. "The first thing anybody would need when injured is a hospital. What makes you at all different?" Parting his legs to lean forwards and place the glass upon the table, Sherlock then leaned back to cross them over his knees loosely, studying Adriana with an obvious skeptical look. Attention turning to her wound, the man's eyes remained still and un-moving from emotion; despite the horrid gash the fire had left. It took longer for Sherlock to realize the hypocritical question just given, though, causing him to mentally curse at himself.

Taking a small breath and continuing to press the ice against the burn, Adriana glanced over at Sherlock and raised an eyebrow. "Hospitals are glorified death beds." She said, the phrase laced with malice. She cleared her throat and looked down pointedly at the burn. "They smell like bleach and hand sanitizer mixed together. Also, _everything_ is white, or blue, or that phosphorous green color. All of those damn nurses and doctors with their scrubs... I mean, those outfits are absolutely idiotic. Can't they just wear jeans and a shirt or something? And do they have to have their instruments all set out next to the hospital beds? It's creepy as hell." She glanced back up at him. "Why _I_ don't need a bloody hospital when I get injured is because if I went to a hospital, I'd have a panic attack because I despise hospitals and everything about them. And if I woke up in a bloody hospital, I'd arm myself with a syringe and fight my way out." Adriana cleared her throat and ran a hand through her hair. Nosocomephobia wasn't something she would admit to, so she decided instead to offer her reasons for having it. "Besides, ice and the Fibonacci sequence is just as good as burn salve and painkillers."

"Well, no..." Though the topic was rather controversial, Sherlock took a breath of contemplation internally to re-think what he was about to say; finally deciding not to voice his opinion. Everything had a purpose, and he felt Adriana was just making up excuses so she wouldn't look somewhat weak and helpless for having a phobia. She wasn't ignorant enough to dismiss the purposes of course, he thought. So why? More attempts to at protecting her pride? His curiosity sparked as he realized a phobia doesn't just appear. Something has to trigger it. "Did you watch your father die in a hospital?" He enquired without much thought on what he had just questioned. Though he figured it didn't require much thought, a question as candid as such ... Well, it _was _just a question. Shifting in his seat slightly, Sherlock's eyes drifted over again to her wound. She wouldn't be running anywhere any time soon, he deduced silently, shortly afterwards noticing how much pressure exactly she was applying. So no more cases. A thought returned to his memory, causing a somewhat saddened look to rest upon his face- sort of like that of a child, being told it was time to go to bed, and the disappointment that followed- as he realized Adriana was only supposed to be doing _one _case with him. And that one case-filled with a lot of panic, joking and... kissing- was over. Mycroft would ensure the cases that followed wouldn't be consistent. But what would he do with her? Deport her to another country, probably, and conjure some excuse as to how she 'Knew of too much' and would be 'a danger to the country if she stayed.'. He had the whole thing mapped out in his head, the entire conversation. 'Reckless' Mycroft would say; 'Careless and idiotic.'

Naturally, Sherlock would realize that her logic was entirely ad-libbed and she was only saying such things to prevent her from having to admit her fear. Why else would he ask her a question about something traumatic happening in a hospital? He was right, of course, about something traumatic having happened, though he wasn't right about what it was. "Oh... um." Despite formerly being such an open book, she did feel a bit... touchy at times. Well, not, at _times_. More like just now. "My first kill was in a hospital. There were complications." She said after a moment of silence, purposely being vague. Her 'first kill' hadn't even been on purpose; she had been in a hospital because after her father died, her first set of foster parents (first and only) took her there for a checkup. The doctor ended up being one of Moriarty's agents (which she had found out since he locked her foster parents out and called her a 'nosy little bitch' since she'd been working to track down his web even then) and he tried to inject her with syringe full of poison... so she stabbed him several times in the neck with a scalpel. A person doesn't watch a man who just tried to murder them bleed out on the floor without being the slightest bit traumatized. _Change the subject_, she thought strictly, clearing her throat and wrapping her free arm protectively around herself. "I'm feeling a bit tired, and I'd also like to get away from my foot hurting for a bit. Mind if I sleep?" She asked, adjusting herself on the couch into more of a laying position.

Not even getting the chance to press Adriana further into the topic, Sherlock just accepted the information given and nodded briefly, looking as though he were about to stand. Though after a short while of contemplation, a sofa with hardly stable cushions didn't seem fit for that of an injured person. 'If you dare voice the suggestion just made,' the voice began, speaking through gritted teeth if it had so; 'you're going to make an utter fool of yourself.' And not only in front of the woman herself, he added. But, nevertheless the suggestion "Take my room for the night, if you like." Was made. "John's bedroom, you'd have to walk up a flight of stairs for. And..." His eyes gestured briefly to her wound; "You're not in any condition to walk that far. Not now, anyway." He muttered, slowly returning to his feet. "I'll take John's room, instead." Sherlock couldn't comprehend whether or not the mention of it all sounded even more idiotic when voiced, or not bad at all. Despite the uncertainty, he didn't spent long on worrying.

Blinking a few times and raising an eyebrow, Adriana was mildly surprised by his offer. He didn't seem the charitable (or necessarily thoughtful) type, and she couldn't help but feel her heart flutter a bit. "Thank you, I appreciate it." She stood up, keeping her burned foot lifted slightly. Some of the scarring had also occurred on the sides and bottom, and she didn't really want to press down on it. Starting to limp through the kitchen and down the hallway, Adriana paused with one hand bracing her weight against the table. "Though I've slept on rocks before in the middle of the desert, I'm sure I could stand to sleep on the couch." _You and your pride_, she thought to herself with a small eye roll. _You can never just accept someone's help without making some point about how you don't really need their help_. "Though I suppose it is better for my foot, yeah." She paused for a moment, wondering how far she could push this kindness. "I might get cold. If you want to come join me, I wouldn't mind." She cleared her throat and hurried down the hallway, wincing as she put pressure on her foot to move faster. She slipped into his room, blushing.

Sherlock stifled a chuckle with just a little smirk to most of the things Adriana had to say. _Oh, so stubborn, _he thought, smirk growing evidently. However, Sherlock couldn't fail to notice how almost everyone acted somewhat odd when he tried out the 'Generosity Thing'. Though the amusement dissolved into a nothingness when Adriana left him with words that didn't quite make sense to him. Words that he had to take a moment of silence for in order to comprehend; thence, hardly realizing Adriana's struggle to actually make it down the hallway. With his hands in the pockets of his trousers, he hesitantly took a few steps closer to the kitchen; speaking in a voice loud enough to hear when he said "There are blankets." There was a pause, before he stood back a little and added "Lots" in a mere mumble. Now, he was lingering between the hallway and the kitchen, having to internally kick himself so he'd move out of the damn apartment to go upstairs. _Come on, Sherlock, there is no way in Hell she's serious_! "I know._ I know_." He voiced in a mutter, speaking in a monotone through gritted teeth. His thoughts were becoming so cloudy. Weak. Cowardly, even. And it was internally painful.

Ducking inside the bedroom as quickly as possible, cheeks burning, Adriana was already mentally berating herself. _Christ, have you got an ounce of self-restraint? Or, I don't know, an inner monologue of any kind? _Well, she didn't, really, and she knew that, but she didn't think that now would be the best time to point that out to herself. _I'm not even surprised at the idiotic things that come out of your mouth anymore. _Best compliment she could ever give herself. She pulled off her shorts and leggings, folding them neatly on the dresser._ You're supposed to be gone by tomorrow night. The case you were meant to be on is solved, and you've still got Africa waiting for you_. She frowned, halfway between taking her tank top off. That was painfully true. While it would be much preferable to stay here with Sherlock, it wasn't as if she was his new companion. _Oh, very nice use of the word 'companion'. He's not the bloody Doctor. A more accurate statement would be 'girlfriend', which is never going to happen in a million years. _Finishing pulling off and folding her tank top, Adriana crawled into Sherlock's bed in her lingerie-esque undergarments, though her mind was too exhausted to criticize her for going to bed looking like a hooker, and before she could combat the 'never in a million years' bit, she was falling asleep underneath the covers.

Lingering about the apartment for a while, Sherlock took a moment to piece together his thoughts. _What could you possibly find so utterly remarkable in her? Why do you even associate with her? This whole frenzy wasn't necessary, yet you just _**_had _**_to push Mycroft into the decision._ _She was only relatively useful in order to gain more information from Moriarty. But he's dead, now. Drop it. You can drop it. _By this time, Sherlock had made his way over to the couch, and slumped himself into it comfortably with a sigh as he ran a hand from his hair and over his face in a fashion of mere indignation. _God, she doesn't even know he's dead. Once you mention it, she can go. Yes, tell her tomorrow. _His eyes became weary, and gradually closed as his body tilted to an angle, slowly drifting off to sleep. It wasn't much of a problem, falling asleep on the sofa, as if Adriana was to wake again in the night-screaming, maybe- he could see to her. Sherlock let out a small groan to the thought, eyes still closed. _See to her? She isn't your responsibility. _

Anyone who said that dreams meant something were obviously full of complete and utter bullshit. Dreams meant nothing; they were usually just there to torture her. This particular torture decided to take the form of when she was 15, back in that hospital, and that maniac had tried to stab her with the syringe. The memory was burned a bit harshly into her skull, and she didn't really like having to think about it again. But her mind was relentless, and she was back in that room with the scalpel in her trembling fingers, dripping with blood and a body on the floor. She was screaming, noiselessly, unable to form any sort of complete or coherent thought, sentence, or sound. There was knocking at the door, and her foster parent's voices, and she was panicking, and then jumping out the window and tumbling to the ground, before running. Just... running. On and on. There were sirens behind her, and she was pretty sure she still had that scalpel in her hand. Somehow, this dream was more terrifying than watching Moriarty rip her ribs out one by one, or having to relive Serbia, mainly because she couldn't escape from it. It all seemed too real, and vivid. Though she couldn't make any noise in her dream, she was making noise in reality, and somehow managed to scream herself awake. She covered her mouth with her hand as soon as she realized she was screaming, and sat up, the covers twisted around her lower half rather inexplicably. It took a moment for her to realize where she was, and until she got her bearings back, she took in deep breaths, trying desperately to calm down.

Sherlock, on the other hand, never seemed to dream. He ever rarely slept. Dreaming was of a foreign topic to him. When in a heavy slumber, screaming awoke him from the state of tranquility he had found himself to be in; sitting up abruptly and blinking rapidly to the noise. At that particular moment only one word echoed in his mind, and that one word alone was enough to make him return to his feet and hurry down the corridor to his bedroom, with hardly a thought put towards his actions. _Adriana_. He swung open the door, eyes darting about his room until they rested upon a hardly-clothed Adriana sitting in his bed. It was then he questioned what he was doing. _Not your responsibility, remember? And, oh God, she was naked_. Sherlock cleared his throat, and turned away his head awkwardly. "Is everything alright? I heard screaming." Might as well ask. It's not like he could just storm in, comprehend the situation silently, and then just leave. Though that'd be something he'd usually do. However, he would always be rational. In this situation, he wasn't so. All of the worry he was just hit with, when if he just stopped for a moment and _thought_, he'd realise she was having but a nightmare. The worst possible scenarios were going through his head as he awoke, though. From her foot's condition having worsened, to Moriarty returning from the dead and climbing through the window! He let out a short sigh, bowing his eyes to the ground. _God, Sherlock. When did you become so...so stupid? _

Attempts at deep breathing and return to normality suddenly disturbed by the appearance of Sherlock, Adriana immediately felt a blush fall to her cheeks. The first reason why was because she was barely wearing anything, though she realized that she never really cared about things like that, and it was probably more along the lines of her screaming her head off and embarrassing herself. She untangled herself from the blankets and rearranged them around her chest like a sleeveless dress, for modesty's sake, and cleared her throat. "Oh, sorry... er, nightmare." She explained briefly, wondering if she looked as pale as she felt. She hadn't thought about that incident since tonight, when Sherlock asked about the hospital thing, though now that she was thinking about it, she had to realize how much she had changed. From screaming bloody murder to snapping several people's necks on a weekly basis and calmly making her escape. The cold-blooded facade had always worked, and she had never really regarded it as a facade before, though now disturbing how that she thought about it... how many people had she managed to kill without a second thought? She recalled how, back in Serbia, the first thing she had jumped to in regards to escape was to kill the guards. For God's sake, she had asked Sherlock if he could snap someone's neck! Though... well, ever since meeting Sherlock, she hadn't killed anyone, had she? She'd saved people instead. "It's fine, though; I'm fine." She cleared her throat again, not really feeling fine at all.

There was another silence-there was an awful lot of them around Adriana- as Sherlock turned his gaze slowly back to the woman sat in his bed, emotionless eyes returning as he remained stood with a hand upon the handle of the door. He hadn't moved at all since he had barged in, and maintained the position of legs parted and broadened shoulders; as if ready to fight, or even kill someone. "...Right." He muttered, after a mere sigh and dropping his stiff posture slightly. Taking another moment or two to gaze upon Adriana, he had come to the decision that she wasn't at all fine. Not one bit. The off-beat of her breathing being very unnatural, and the slight trembling of her hands in which he thought went unnoticed by herself. "Are you?" _Sherlock, just leave. God, man. Leave! You needn't be concerned, she's recovering. Leave her to deal with it on her own_. Instead of listening to that rather annoying voice, Sherlock took the time afterwards to try and deduce what her nightmare would've been about. They hadn't discussed anything disturbing to trigger it, had they? Did the fire bring up some bad memories? The mention of her father? Well, she did suffer slightly from discomfort when she answered one of his questions with 'My first kill...'. It was a brief answer, at that, suggesting severe anxiousness, perhaps. ... Did she kill her father? No. She didn't kill any one close to her, or else she'd avoid killing completely in the future. Which, needless to say, she didn't. And she didn't portray the characteristics a psychopath would. So who was it she killed? Sherlock's mind was in a haze, and honestly, he was simply too tired (and perhaps slightly distracted) to focus upon putting his brain to work this late in the night.

The question made any confidence she had put on crumble slightly, and she let out a small breath, slumping slightly. "No... not really." She admitted, adjusting the blanket around her. She was hesitant to talk about this particular part of her past, even to Sherlock. And he probably didn't even want to hear about it. Though... well, he could easily have just left, right. He didn't have to stay here and make absolutely sure she was alright. Besides, she had never actually talked to anyone about what happened, and she remembered there being something about bottling up emotions and such being bad from her grief counselor. She shifted slightly, looking over at Sherlock and debating for a brief moment what she should say. "You... you remember we were talking about why I don't like hospitals? I was... er, a bit vague." She tucked her legs up to her chest, and folded her arms on her knees. "After my dad died, my first, and last, pair of foster parents took me to a hospital to get a checkup, and while they were in the waiting room, the 'doctor' turned out to be an assassin who tried to kill me." Her voice had shaken very slightly, and she paused for a moment to compose herself once more. "I grabbed a scalpel and... stabbed him several times in the neck. I didn't… know anything about anatomy back then, I just… sort of… stabbed him until I figured he was dead. I kept trying to scream but I couldn't make any noise, it was… caught in my throat or something." She closed her eyes for a moment. "And then I jumped out a window, ran from the cops, and then hid in a construction site for a week until I managed to figure out what to do with myself. And that's sort of my origin story." She opened her eyes, looking over at Sherlock and wondering what he thought of her now. "I had a nightmare about that." She added, in case he hadn't gotten that.

After listening attentively to what she had to say, Sherlock echoed "An assassin?" with concern hidden well with casual curiosity. He strolled over to a chair on the farther side of the room, and pulled it only slightly closer to the bed before he sat, crossing his legs; thinking that taking a seat would somehow comfort her, maybe give her the confidence to continue, as he had noticed how her voice cracked slightly on the occasional syllable. "Who sent the assassin upon you?" Enquired Holmes, watching her with an eyebrow raised. There was a long moment of thought, as he considered maybe it was to be Mr. Moriarty. And if it was, now would be a good time to mention of his demise. But that'd give her all the more reason to leave, correct? She'd have a life to live. _How fantastic_, he thought with an internal smile. _She could leave such an awful way of living behind and start fresh_. Sherlock cleared his throat slightly after asking the questions, taking a breath in order to gather the conviction to say so. "Moriarty," he began, wondering how exactly to go about this... Could he just say it? "Moriarty is dead, Adriana..." His eyes stayed upon her as he waited for a response. Any response. Was she to feel happy? Surely, yes. Though, he had forgotten quite how her father had died. Would the mention of him just bring her more nightmares?

It was clear enough to Adriana that the perpetrator had been Moriarty, and she answered his question with a brief quip of his name, before sitting back on the bed and trying again to relax. The sound of Sherlock saying _his _name was a bit disturbing, and caused Adriana to shiver, though the following words made her stop any movement. He was dead? How could he be dead? How could Sherlock know he was dead? Had Sherlock killed him? She almost hoped that he wasn't, since... well, she had done so much in order to kill him. It would have been nice to shoot him through the forehead. She had also sort of wanted to deliver that one line from the Princess Bride, just for kicks, about him killing her father, though she figured she would be too angry to make any references when she finally came face to face with him... except she wouldn't, not if he was dead, as Sherlock said. She stammered for a moment. "How? And... and when?" She had seen him so recently, too. It was hard to believe he was... just dead, like that. She looked over at Sherlock, furrowing her brow.

When seeing that the emotion in which was presented was not happiness, but annoyance-disapproval?- Sherlock nodded once, and replied with a firm and straight-forward "Two years ago. Suicide." He watched the discomfort grow in Adriana, and sighed a little before continuing. "It wasn't anticipated. Not at all... He wanted to drive me to taking my own life, but things took an interesting turn of events." The disturbing thought of 'Maybe Moriarty faked his death, too...' entered his mind momentarily, soon expanding into something more worrying. But he couldn't have. He saw him put a bullet in his mouth. He was right there, in front of him, and he fell to the floor in his own pool of blood. It had happened, no doubt. And though his return, (if such a thing was existent) brought great mental pain to Sherlock, he would, of course, be utterly intrigued as to _how _it was faked. Though it'd probably lead to Sherlock's actual suicide; probably being unable to comprehend the situation, and either die of the overwhelming feel of stupidity or just slowly wither away in an abandoned building somewhere, surrounded by many other lifeless bodies too high to care that they were soon to meet their demise. Sherlock sighed heavily at the thought, and looked back to Adriana- having found his gaze drifted to the floor previously- with a look patience, in wait for her response.

"Two years?" Adriana echoed, her furrowed brow remaining in that shape. That couldn't be possible; she had seen him less than three months ago. "I... you must be mistaken." She said softly, wondering for a moment if Moriarty had actually managed to trick Sherlock. She hadn't thought it to be possible, but... well, what if someone did manage to trick him like that? Into thinking he was dead? "Back when I was in Serbia, before I was taken, I had... a brief encounter with him." She shuddered slightly, disliking the memory of his cold, snaky voice slithering down her spine; mocking her. "And his sidekick. You know, Sebastian Moran? He gave me this." Immodestly, she let the blanket around her drop, revealing her stomach, where there was a small 'SM' carved into her skin. It was almost imperceptible, though when pointed out, it was more obvious. "Look, I... I'm sorry, but there's no way that he's dead. I saw him, and I heard that psycho voice of his." She pulled the blanket back up on her abdomen.

Quite suddenly, Sherlock had felt himself feel dizzy. Sick to his stomach. It _couldn't_ be true. Moriarty was in Serbia? All of that time..._he was in bloody Serbia_? Sherlock was evidently disturbed, eyes unmoving from the scar upon Adriana's skin until it was once again hidden. "I..." He began, blinking a few times in order to keep some of the sanity that still lingered. So Moriarty was back? And with this... _Moran_... Man... Somebody worse than himself, perhaps? _Oh god, no._ This was incomprehensible. Utterly absurd. Why would he even fall for it? Why would he believe for a second he could rid of Jim so easily? **_Why? Why? Why?_**_ Lord, Sherlock. You could've lured him back to London. Your return is bound to be in the papers, now! How ignorant and careless of you! _Sherlock pushed back the chair and stumbled to his feet, eyes unnaturally wide as he hovered his palms over the floor; in order to keep his balance. "That's not possible..." He muttered. The man would've looked completely insane and unstable in that room, right then, but he couldn't care; his mind was occupied completely with the mention of James' false demise. "Are you sure?" He snapped, looking straight to Adriana with an eyebrow raised, stepping closer in an act of desperation. "Are you _completely_ sure?" Of course she was. She was locked up and tortured by them, for God's sake Sherlock! He sighed to the thought, already despising the new character 'Sebastian' he had yet to encounter the presence of. Sherlock slowly sat down, running a hand through his hair as he closed his eyes in order to gradually calm. If the dared return, they will die. He'd ensure it one way or the other. There was no need for anxiousness, now. "It's okay..." He muttered to himself; "it's all okay."

Watching Sherlock fall apart slightly was a bit alarming, though Adriana didn't manage to do much other than stare. She hadn't seen him like this before; then again, if what he had said was true, Moriarty had been the one who drove him to fake his own death, so they had to have a very serious rivalry. And it did make sense for him to be distressed, considering that he was a phenomenal genius detective and Moriarty was the mastermind of one of the largest criminal webs in the world... He seemed to be trying to comfort himself, and Adriana felt a sting of guilt. Maybe she should have stayed quiet... no. Ignorance wasn't bliss; she knew that very well. Perhaps she should do something. She wrapped the blanket tighter around her midsection and climbed off of the bed with the sheet trailing behind her. She didn't quite know how to comfort a man like him, and in the end, she entwined her fingers with his and used one hand to hold the sheet up, looking up at him with a furrowed brow. "You know, I... I really don't see how he could have possibly beat you. You're a genius, and you're hardly the psychopath that he is." She knew there wasn't much she could say to comfort him, in the end, though she hoped that what she was saying would have some effect on him. "He's a snake. And if you destroyed him once, you'll destroy him again." She paused for a moment, tightening her fingers around his hand. "Besides, now you've got me to help you, right?"

The poor man was too distracted with his thoughts to notice Adriana approaching, so when she seemingly appeared by his side, taking his hand and beginning to speak, it came as a rather big shock; causing his eyes to flicker open, and run over the woman beside him quickly. His pessimistic side was on its fullest gear, so everything Adriana seemed to say just made his way of thinking worse. Yes, he was a genius. But what sort of genius is fooled so easily? And, no, he didn't destroy him once. Obviously. His eyes closed again, as Sherlock uncomfortably removed his hand from Adrianas. Despite this, her kind gestures were working; but he wouldn't allow his stupidity and ignorance to deepen toward something such as sentiment. "No." He muttered, tightening his eyes closed again and pinching the brim of his nose in a fashion of frustration and stress. "You're not helping." Without opening his eyes, Sherlock simply gripped the material she was holding against herself and tugged it off so it'd fall to the floor; carelessly pointing towards her stomach. Towards the scar. "You'll be gone by then." If Sherlock couldn't take down Moriarty without 'killing' himself, and if he was to return with the supposed comrade, Sebastian, it was hardly likely for him to survive at all. And of course he wouldn't put Adriana's life at risk, also. Not when there was even the slightest chance it could be lost.

Normally being immodest was slightly more her style, though around Sherlock, she did feel a bit embarrassed to have her cover torn away. She cleared her throat and sat down on the edge of the bed, folding her hands in her lap. She pulled the blanket around her shoulders, feeling slightly chastened. She glanced up at Sherlock, raising an eyebrow. "You know, if I wasn't handcuffed when Moran gave this to me..." She gestured to the scars. "I easily could have taken him down. He's nothing more than Moriarty's helper monkey." Though she supposed it made sense for Sherlock to be distressed. Moriarty was such a demon. "I've survived this long. I'm not some weak, dainty bloody princess." She muttered, before looking up at him and frowning. Either he was doubting her, or he was worried about her. Of course, it was probably the former. She slightly disliked the way that he had pushed her away, though... well, the last time she had gotten close to him, she had kissed him, which he seemed to have disapproved of. She couldn't be making him nervous, could she?

"But you _were_ handcuffed." Sherlock so sternly remarked, disguising his worry with an insult sparked by anger; "You allowed that to happen." His eyes snapped open, looking to the woman sat opposite him with mere annoyance in his eyes. She'd have to leave the country, he silently suggested, mentally piecing together a plan to ensure her safety. He'd get Mycroft to give her a new identity. And he'd make sure he wouldn't spill any information-like he did that one time, betraying his own brother so he was able to get a trace of information from Moriarty himself when interrogating him- at all, about Adriana and her new life. Sherlock looked over her for a while longer, finding his eyes drifting over her form somewhat indiscreetly. "I'm sure you could have 'taken him down' if you weren't handcuffed." He said finally, voice slightly distant as he turned his gaze to look back to her eyes flickering a rich emerald colour. "You're not going to be getting a second chance, though. So don't get your hopes up." Sherlock cleared his throat slightly as he stared at her, as if to prove his level of seriousness was legitimate. He didn't once break eye contact as he silently debated whether or not to mention the unofficial plan he'd just made. He knew she wouldn't at all agree, nor accept to it as easily as he wanted. He just took a while to figure out how he should go about it, without coming across as too concerned. "You're too plagued with revenge, anyway." He muttered, adding another short insult just to dispose of any compassionate feeling welling up inside him when thinking again of her safety. He was becoming weaker by the second, and he was utterly aware of it.

A very obvious flash of pain crossed Adriana, and she stayed where she was for a moment before standing and crossing over to where her clothing was. She had tried to let his criticisms not get to her, though... well, it was hard not to. She probably shouldn't have even considered that he was saying any of that because he was worried for her. He doubted that she could help him; honestly. _Who was the freelance assassin with a decade of experience, and who was the detective who had barely done anything more than fake his own death? _She thought harshly, though she didn't voice those thoughts. She didn't want to be rude. Unlike him. "Plagued my arse." She muttered, pulling on her leggings and tank top. Yes, she supposed that a lot of what she did was driven by revenge, but she wasn't _plagued_. "I'm not so weak that I can't handle some sicko and his pet." She pulled on her shorts, running a hand through her hair, and shot Sherlock a sharp look. "And what do you mean I'm not going to get a second chance? The hell I won't! What, are you going to lock me up and stop me from going after him?" She pulled her jacket on and let out a small huff of breath. "Look, I get the whole working alone thing, alright; I do the same thing. But just because you think you're better at being alone doesn't mean you can push everyone away. I _could_ help you, and personally, I think that if we did work together we could easily take Moriarty down." She smoothed her hands down her sides. "But it's obvious you don't feel the same way. I'll get a hotel room." She cleared her throat, wondering if she should have phrased it differently, though it was too late now, and she turned on her heel, starting to hurry out of the bedroom. Her cheeks were burning slightly, and her heart hurting ever so faintly.

Everything Adriana had to say, Sherlock held his tongue for... With some struggle. It was only when she announced she was leaving and started towards the door, when Sherlock sprung to his feet; in few swift movements, taking either of Adriana's arms, and standing before her in order to prevent her from leaving, looking down to her with his eyes suddenly laced with desperation and worry. And that was when he snapped. He never snapped. Why was he, all of a sudden, so fragile around her? Why did he allow himself to crumble into one thousand pieces, _in front of her_? "I _will _lock you up, dammit! If that what it takes to keep you safe!" He suddenly exclaimed, all rational thinking put aside. Sherlock was acting like a completely different man; expressing the emotions kept hidden inside for so long, evidently allowing himself to worry about another being other than family or friend. He could hardly think straight anymore, and that only became clear to him once he found his lips against Adriana's, in yet another daunting manner. The moment he noticed so-which took awfully longer than hoped-he dropped his arms and stood aside, turning to the nearest window. Within hardly a second, his emotionless face, and way of thinking had returned, alongside his opinion. "Leave." He stated, firmly, glaring out of the window with stiff eyes; back now to Adriana. "Go to a hotel. Make sure you change to another one in the morning. Farther away from here."_Lord, Sherlock. What have you done? _

Well. _That_ was undoubtedly the most unexpected thing to happen at a time like this. Her mind went a little blank for a while. Sherlock... wanted to keep her safe? And had... _kissed_ her. Why the hell would he do that? He had just been... no, he hadn't been saying that she was weak. He really had been worried about her. Her mind was protesting this rather adamantly, and she was half-certain that she was actually dreaming. No; this was real, and she knew it, since this wasn't a nightmare. She blinked a few times, suddenly realizing that he had let her go. Her hands went to the areas on her arms where Sherlock's fingers had been, and she stared him. "I-" She cut herself off, still not quite knowing how to respond. She wondered if he had felt the same way when she kissed him. She dropped her arms to her sides. He could really be so... impossible. One moment, he was kissing her, though the next he was turned away from her, and telling her to leave. "Sherlock..." She stepped forward and put one of her hands on his shoulder. It was slightly infuriating, how he switched from being affectionate and concerned for her to cold and unfeeling. It crossed her mind that he was doing it on purpose; maybe he was at war with himself with this. Over her? _Don't be so self-centered. _"I don't know what to say." She breathed.

_Your actions are ridiculous. Absurd. Pathetic._ Throughout the silence, Sherlock began to mentally curse at himself for being so careless. _It was bad enough informing her that you care. But _**_kissing _**_her? _A short sigh emitted from his lips to follow on as an evident response from his thoughts. Though, he found the sigh to be that of relief because at the same time his thoughts concluded, Adriana took a hand to his shoulder. "Don't say anything, just go." He demanded, his voice calm yet stern, and his stance still unmoving. Sort of like a statue. He had kissed her. Bloody _kissed _her! Where did that even come from? There was hardly anything his rational self could notice, which would've acted to trigger his words. His gestures. His... _kissing _her. Extremely briefly, Sherlock glanced over his shoulder to see whether or not Adriana had left yet. She hadn't. Why would she stay? _Because you've just so heavily implied that the feeling is mutual. The attraction to one another, Sherlock_. He internally grimaced with discomfort, as the tone in his voice slowly turned to match Mycroft's. Oh, he's _never _going to hear the end of this once his brother deduces such from the silence. _Never_. What on Earth could have been going through his head at the time to think that it was a good idea? That the consequences wouldn't be horrid? The answer to that was: _Clearly nothing_.

Moving her hand away to linger in the space between them, fingers curling inwardly towards her palm, Adriana considered that maybe she should just leave. He obviously wanted her to, and there didn't seem like there was much she was doing in the way of helping him cope with the revelation of Moriarty being alive... Besides, if Sherlock was going to turn cold as soon as he revealed the tiniest bit of true emotion in himself, she was going to regret caring for him, since it would end unsatisfactory and painful. _Don't say things you don't mean_, her mind strictly said. Normally, she supposed that little reprimanding voice would be all for her leaving, though surprisingly, it seemed to encourage her to stay. _You know why he's like this. You were once like this, remember? Cold-hearted, scared of emotions, scared of opening up to a person... _Oh, shut up. "I know it seems easier at times, but you can't just... just bottle the way that you feel up." She said softly, surprised at how crystalline and fragile her voice sounded. "You are going to have to come to terms with your emotions at some point. And when you do, you'll regret saying things like that." That would be a great line to leave on. _I can't believe you. First, you protest adamantly that caring for him isn't a bad thing, and now you want to leave him? _Coerced to at least take off her jacket, Adriana moved to his side and wrapped her right arm around his left. "You know, you're in just as much danger as I am." She said, still a bit irritated at how delicate her voice sounded. Maybe it was because she was speaking around a rather painful object in her throat that threatened to her voice to crack. "And I want you to be safe as well." She paused, clearing her throat. "Maybe we should both just be locked away." She added with a small smile.

Every single word to meet his ear had made sense. Adriana made him understand things in a way he never thought he would. A way he couldn't yet comprehend. _See, you shouldn't have kissed her._ Interrupted Mycroft's voice, echoing in Sherlock's head somewhat painfully. _Now she knows that you're capable of expressing emotions. And, oh God. Now you're aware. Don't do that. No, not again_. Sherlock's eyes twitched over to their arms as she linked hers with his, slowly raising an eyebrow. At that moment, his thoughts flashed to the few nights ago when they had their 'Fake Date'. Physical contact didn't bother him much then, but over just a couple of days spent with Adriana... Well his opinion dramatically changed. He remained still, part of him wanting to pull away his arm and tell her to leave, whereas the other part just wanting to stand there. Embracing her company to its fullest. "I can't." He muttered after a long pause, though maintaining the position taken. It wasn't that he wouldn't express his emotions, it was more he couldn't. The consequences of which being inexplicably dangerous, in many ways. His reputation would be abolished in merely four seconds. Mycroft would disown him. John would be John and probably get excited. And Moriarty... If Moriarty found out about a sentimental attachment, and to _Adriana_. Finding out he had a friend was bad enough. The damn man tried to explode him. Tried to kill John. But something strange happened and things took a different path. Sherlock sighed, looking to Adriana with a sort if sorrowful look. He was in such a predicament. Feeling, and even expressing emotions he could hardly understand. Yet he was completely aware that they were there. She was right, he had to face them one way or another. Sooner rather than later. He supposed, just getting her to leave would've been easier. Out of sight, out of mind, right? _Oh, to Hell with everything! _A new voice exclaimed, causing some unknown emotion to flicker in Sherlock's ice-like eyes. _There's hardly anything to worry about. Just take what you want, and don't look back! _To this, Sherlock awkwardly blinked a few times as he remained silent, turning his gaze to the ground; and actually contemplating the suggestion for a while. _No. That would be your biggest mistake yet._

At the very least, he wasn't forcing her to leave. She didn't like the sound of his voice when it was being harsh. Even if he wasn't really speaking to her for more than a couple brief seconds, she supposed it was nice to be able to be close to him. His skin was warm, despite how cold he seemed. _Maybe it would be better if you had just left... _For God's sake, woman, pick a side and stay with it! _Sticking on one side is boring. Besides, you did make the mistake of... well, you made some mistake. That much is clear. _She bowed her head for a moment, before unwinding her arm from around his. There was a spark of irritation in her; she, admittedly, wanted Sherlock. In every sense of the word. Though it was so clear that despite her utmost desires to be with him, it was never going to happen. He _couldn't_. It was difficult to care for someone like him, yes, though she never wanted to stop caring. "Why can't you?" She asked softly, wishing that he would actually speak to her about himself. For once. After all, now that she thought about it, she had told him rather a lot about herself and her life, whereas most of what she knew about him came from John's blog, instead of from him. Of course, like most of what she wanted from Sherlock, she probably wouldn't ever receive it. Though she was curious about him. She wondered for a moment if he was scared of anything. She had her odd thing about cops and hospitals, though... well, he didn't quite seem like the sort who would have any phobia. She regretted unwrapping her arm from his, and missed the warmth already. She loosely wrapped her arms around herself. "Please, talk to me." She murmured, trying not to sound as if she was pleading, though having a slightly difficult time with it. She was behaving extraordinarily odd, though she supposed that... well, being around Sherlock sort of made her act odd.

When Adriana had moved away slightly from Sherlock, a somewhat emptiness overwhelmed him. And quite suddenly he felt alone. Only, this time he realised it. He had always been just so... _Alone_. Closing his eyes, he took a moment of silence to make sense of Adriana as an individual. Ever since he'd spoken to her, seen her, he could never quite deduce what he had wanted. Maybe he wasn't used to being around people. Adriana was, afterall, the only person -the _first_ person-who had actually spoken to him-partaking in a friendly conversation- at _all_ within those two years. And within just few days she had changed him completely. Or maybe he just forgot how to conceal himself. Maybe he forgot how to _not_ be changed. Despite trying to mentally talk himself out of the obvious affection he felt towards her, he had realised that an acceptance was necessary. He glanced to her quickly when she questioned the incapability of his, and he swiftly turned to her, arching an eyebrow. "_Why can't I?_" He repeated, looking down to her with confusion, slowly melting to a form of helplessness. "I don't know how to express myself." Muttered he, honestly. _Was he actually going to talk to her? Out of all people_? Though, she, he felt most comfortable with. Mycroft he couldn't talk to for obvious reasons. John had always tried to fix him. Or just accept him and leave him be. And always criticize him for every little action. But Adriana... She always helped. "Especially on a topic as such...There doesn't seem to be a word in the dictionary to define...my... Confusion. Helplessness." Biting down on his Lower lip, Sherlock took a moment or so to comprehend how he felt about voicing his worries. His flaws. It was odd, yes. New to him. Though he supposed it cleared everything up a bit, feeling a small weight being lifted from his shoulders. "I can't think of words. Only actions. It's infuriating." He admitted. As currently, his eyes kept darting from the bed, and back to Adriana repeatedly; having to again turn his body to an angle to avoid such. Why was he being so honest? Why now? Maybe because part of him couldn't help to see her so confused. So lost. So desperate, in wanting to know more about him. Truthfully, he didn't want to tell her anything; in fear that if he might, she'd leave. She'd just up and leave without hardly a reason. Pushing people away, and speaking to them of foul manner, however, was a reason. Primarily why he did that so much. Though he wasn't yet comfortable with voicing it.

Rather oddly, Adriana found that she understood how he felt. While she herself didn't feel the same confusion or helplessness, she understood what he was trying to say; he cared about her; greatly. Possibly even... _no, no, you don't use __**that**__ word, not about you, not about anyone else feeling that way about you. It's caring, that's __**it... **_and he didn't know how to express it verbally since he most likely hadn't had much experience with caring about someone. The thought that she had somehow managed to coerce emotion out of Sherlock made her blush and want to grin stupidly, though she repressed that and elected to instead smile slightly and suppress any schoolgirl-ish mannerisms. His admission made the slight irritation in her fade somewhat, and a spark of hope that maybe she actually had a chance with him ignited in her chest. She bit her lower lip, worrying that her hair probably looked terrible, or that she had raccoon eyes or something... _you have got to be kidding me; worrying about your appearance? Stereotypical and really boring. You're gorgeous and you know it, or at least you did, until he came along..._She looked up at him, somewhat deer-in-the-headlights looking. Why would she look scared? Probably because, despite how she knew more about them than Sherlock, emotions still frightened her the slightest bit. She'd never... well, _loved_ anyone since her Da, and that was a different kind of _love_, and one that she knew no one would feel for her, and she wouldn't feel for anyone. _Well, on the contrary... _nope. Not going there. Not when you've known him for less than a week. "I get it." She entwined their fingers, needing to feel connected and secure again. "I mean... I've felt same way, though you... you haven't had that much experience with emotions, I'm guessing?" Worried that sounded judgmental, she quickly amended the statement. "Not that there's anything wrong with it. A genius like you couldn't have that much time for feelings... though you have to start somewhere, right?" She glanced down at the ground, finding her head suddenly absent of numbers. "Actions speak louder than words." She couldn't help but murmur, unable to not think of precisely what sort of actions she'd like him to be doing. _Seriously, Adriana, pull yourself together. _

Finding her hand in his, yet again, in a way Sherlock felt complete. No longer alone. _Oh, really? Do you have any idea how stupid you sound?_ Though he hadn't yet said anything. He was merely appreciating the time with Adriana, even if it meant being silent. For the while she was talking, Sherlock was looking out from the window they both stood by, listening intently to what she had to say; knowing full well that he should be paying attention. To everything. Every tiny detail. His eyes snapped away suddenly from the window and back to the woman beside him, when he heard the faint mutter emitting from her lips. Quicker than expected, his eyes bowed suddenly to the lips giving him the most solicitous of words, and his response came almost immediately afterwards. "Yes, I suppose they do..." _Okay, Sherlock. Just leave it at that. She's obviously not leaving. So go. Alright? She can find a hotel in the morning. She'll be gone. Just...Just go if you wish to keep your sanity. Your intelligence. _Sherlock only shook his head imperceptibly, chuckling only in the slightest way to the words attacking at his brain. It was amusing, how as soon as the smallest hint of affection is suggested his brain tries to abolish it suddenly. Somewhat automatically. "Adriana..." He began, hesitantly, quickly noting how stupid he had sounded. Well, he had to show that her words had helped. They were completely supportive (ish) towards his way of thinking-No, actually, his own thoughts were driving him slightly unbalance, he had himself to blame for that and maybe if he just...just stopped those thoughts all together, he could do what he wanted. _Do what you wanted?-_ No. No more lambasted thoughts.-And he had to thank her one way or the other. _One way it was._ "Thank you. What you've said, uhm..." He cleared his throat, smiling faintly. "It helped."

It didn't seem like Sherlock was the sort of person who could be easily comforted, and Adriana couldn't help but feel the slightest self-pride that she'd actually managed to help someone with a problem. Especially him. "Of course. No problem." She tightened her fingers around his, rubbing her thumb over one side of his smooth, alabaster-skinned hand, and couldn't help but feel her heart skip a little bit. It was almost impossible for Adriana not to act like a giggling, flustered schoolgirl when she looked up at the other man, and she was at a loss of what to do for a moment, only being able to pay attention to her pounding heartbeat and how the faint light from the hallway and the streetlamps outside managed to illuminate his features perfectly. After a moment of reflection, she wondered what the best thing to say was. Should she just wait for him to leave? No, their hands were entwined and he wouldn't do that, so it would just be awkward... No, she had to say _something_. Maybe, just maybe, instead of actually thinking through every single thing to say, she could just be honest. Say what came to mind. She paused, again. "Er, Sherlock?" She looked up at him, rubbing her thumb over his skin again. "That offer I made, about you possibly joining me..." She motioned her head over towards the bed. "I wouldn't mind if you accepted it." She murmured.

The continuous movement of Adriana's thumb gently tracing over his skin make his composure fault slightly. Her touch was inexplicably soft and comforting. Everything about her seemed to be so strikingly glorious, as for the entire silence with just the both standing there, hand in hand, Sherlock had found himself to be staring at her with, most probably, evident admiration. And for the first time in a while, he was speechless. When hearing a slight mutter of words escaping her lips again, Sherlock pulled himself back to reality and rose an eyebrow, producing a slight "Mm?" sound of question from his hardly-moving lips. It didn't take long to realise what she had suggested, causing his merely widened eyes to flicker over to the bed to his left. Primarily every small detail of the man at that moment had frozen._ She wanted him to join her? And she was quite serious. _Sherlock cleared his throat, not exactly wanting to reject the offer but also fearing the consequences if he was to accept. Couldn't he just take a break from everything for one measly evening? "Of course." He said in barely a whisper afterwards, taking a small and silent appreciation of his victory for keeping his voice stable.

The way that his eyes widened slightly to her suggestion was absolutely adorable, though Adriana didn't dare say that out loud, since she was fairly sure that he wouldn't want to be described as 'adorable'. His assent made her heart flutter, again, and she wondered for a brief moment if he thought she meant just sleeping, or... to hell with it, _she _didn't even know what she meant. She figured that, they could just... figure it out, yes? As long as she got to be close to him, she decided she didn't really care what they were doing. She stood on the tips of her toes to peck a kiss to his cheek before tugging him over to the bed by his hand, sitting down on the edge of the mattress and looking up at him for a moment. "Glad to hear it. Your bed was bit cold anyways." She teased, moving so she was on her knees at the edge of the bed, her eye line around his clavicle. She looked up at him again. "You sure?" She asked, unbuttoning the top button of his shirt, mostly just posing the question since this didn't seem particularly real; more like some kind of dream.

From then onwards, Sherlock's facial expression had hardly changed at all. And he was aware of it. Yet, he allowed Adriana to pull him gently over to the bed until he was stood before her, his damn conviction lessening as her hands made their way to his dress shirt. Even if he was to succumb to both of their wants, he had still only known her for less than a week. Yet they'd been through so much... It was all seemingly incorrectly fitted. There was no logic about any of it, causing Sherlock's head to form a brief aching pain as he still couldn't comprehend the happenings. Finally, he rose his hands to take Adriana's in a gentle grip, subconsciously bringing them to his lips to kiss her petite fingers softly. He sighed shortly, trying to conjure the courage, and perhaps a conjecture, to mention how he felt. She could manage to voice the truth, so now he supposed it was his turn. "It's all rather absurd, really." He began, his gaze locked intently to her own; "I just think... Well, we've known one another for barely four days. And all of this..._emotion_..." _Sherlock, where are you going with this? I really don't know_, he admitted silently. He could hardly focus on anything at all, other than Adriana, of course. And despite being slightly weary from the activities earlier on today-stealing a motorcycle, tracking down John and demolishing a bonfire-Sherlock still felt an inexplicable need to just... _Take _her.

The tiniest shiver ran down Adriana's spine at the sensation of his lips against her fingers, though she frowned slightly at his words. "Oh... Do you... not want to?" She asked, pausing for a moment and blushing, again. She hoped that she hadn't moved too fast; that would be rather embarrassing, though it would be more disappointing. True, it had barely even been four days since they had met, but... well, she hadn't exactly ever taken her time, and besides, she did feel rather connected to Sherlock. As cliché that sounded, there had to be something between them, right? The both of them, their togetherness... well, she had managed to get 'all of this emotion' out of him, and she had to be somehow significant. And the way that he looked at her... his eyes were so many colors; verdigris and aquamarine with specks of yellow-gold. She could stare at them for ages, and she loved the way that they scanned her form. Though at the moment, she felt a bit raw underneath their gaze at the moment. She bowed her head. "Sorry, I... sorry." Though she didn't make much of an effort to move from her current position.

Through all of this time-which, if you thought about it, wasn't very long at all-Sherlock had been resisting all temptation for Adriana. And he only realized that now, though he persisted to do so. Dropping his arm slowly, though keeping her hands in his for a little longer, Sherlock strolled around her so he was able to sit himself comfortably upon the bed; leaning his back against the head of the bed itself. He didn't quite know how to respond. Although he wanted her, there and then, knowing full well it was possible, he didn't want to encounter one single memory of the night in the future. A lot had already happened, a lot of things he'd never expect to do so; kissing her, expressing his emotions, letting his guard down. Finally he came to the conclusion that he didn't want to take her for granted. From tomorrow, he knew he'd activate the emotionless sociopath who lacks any form of remorse, again. The man he _really _was. "Can I just lay with you?" He asked, the tone of his voice surprisingly soft and... So _unlike _him.

There probably wasn't anything that Adriana would prefer to hear than Sherlock's gorgeous baritone voice. Flushing, she smiled and nodded, rather glad that she hadn't completely forgone her chances with him. She let out a long breath and moved to lay next to him on the bed, leaning her head against the crook of his neck. Somehow, just that slight closeness made her feel protected. It was odd; she didn't even feel this protected when she had a gun at her side. Now that she thought about it, she hadn't really ever felt this protected. Just by laying at someone's side, though. Well, not just someone. Sherlock. _So now you're feeling dependent on some bloke you haven't known for over a week? You and your claims about not being a dainty, weak princess..._ Was it so bad that she might want to feel safe, for once, without relying completely on herself? _Yep. You always rely on yourself, and it's probably dangerous that you feel so guarded like this. _She wrapped an arm loosely around his stomach, closing her eyes and relaxing slightly. Somehow, she didn't think she'd be getting any nightmares like this.

Shifting to get comfortable, and stretching an arm over Adriana's slim shoulders, Sherlock found himself in a state of complete tranquility. Pure peace. This felt right. _God, it did._ So why were his thoughts telling him otherwise? He sat in silence, watching Adriana as she slowly drifted off to sleep. It was all so pleasant, how she curled up to him like...like she_ knew_ him. Like she enjoyed what she saw, and she had accepted him. He ran his fingers gently along the back of her hand holding his waist, his other hand running softly through her hair. And he took another long moment to admire her. In a way, he supposed she was like him. Maybe that's why he was completely drawn to her. She had emotions that were found merely hard to get a hold of-usually hidden by something, which in her case was heavy sarcasm or false conviction-she was hardly as ignorant as anybody he had ever met. Though above all, she was gorgeous in every sense possible. Her personality. Though she could be stubborn at times, it was all the more amusing. And her hair...he smiled a little. That _vibrant_ hair. _Oh, and her eyes._ He somehow hoped for a split second she'd open them, just because he had one less thing to appreciate. His chest lifted slightly as he inhaled a breath, finally closing his eyes as he attempted to get some sleep himself. The moment was quite perfect. Flawless, even. Something he'd certainly never forget. Though he'd force himself to. There was no way he could live like this. This was a life style not meant for men like Sherlock. Despite his tiredness, the detective refused to fall into a heavy slumber he'd seemingly never arouse from, so he'd be able to wake earlier...And leave. And start the day as any other. He finally exhaled his breath, as if concluding his thoughts as his mind drifted away with Adriana's.

As she fell asleep with her head resting against Sherlock's arm, hair splayed out on his skin in an almost Pollock-esque fashion, Adriana found her prediction was only half-true. A pity, as she hadn't had a proper night's rest in maybe... well, actually, she probably had never had a proper night's rest. She did have a few small flashes of nightmares, though they were nothing like her usual, vivid, play-by-plays of past incidents. These were more like small snapshots that caused tiny, slightly painful twinges in her chest. Her father's body was prominent among them, and caused her to tighten her arm around Sherlock, almost protectively, though it was more reminiscent of fear. There were others; Moriarty's smirk, his demon eyes, or the glimpse of a knife covered in her blood... They weren't as bad as her normal visions, though they were enough to make her twitch and whimper a bit in reality, as well as hold herself desperately against Sherlock. Though at some point, she shifted and vaguely felt his arm around her, and the terror faded. Some part of her consciousness managed to stir and register that Sherlock was the one underneath her. Dazed, and still mostly asleep, she sighed his name and nuzzled her head against him. It was odd, but she could have sworn she heard herself murmur 'I love you'. Though she was far too out of it to really register it, or care, and she soon fell back into her deep sleep.

When feeling a trace of panic flow through the woman against his body, Sherlock gradually flickered open his eyes to look down on her with concern. _How awful was her past, exactly? What did she have to endure? _His jaw clenched slightly to the thought of Moriarty and that Moran Man. _The things they could've done to her... _Before he was able to lose himself in a daydream of revenge, Sherlock gently tightened his arm around the poor woman, holding her closer in an attempt to comfort her. To calm her. "Shh..." He hummed, eyes blinking wearily as they adjusted to the dark. "It's alright, love." He muttered softly, suddenly cursing at himself mentally for being so..._so_...caring. Kind. Frail. But that's what she needed, right? He couldn't argue. When hearing her begin to wake (he supposed) and hearing her mutter aloud his name, Sherlock instantly responded with an "Hmm?" Expressing his concern and worry yet again. Halfway through saying "What is it?" He abruptly came to a stop when hearing her whisper three words he never thought he'd witness. _Ever_. There was a heavy silence, and within that time Sherlock had found himself being slightly relieved when finding Adriana fall back to her slumber. _Had she really said that? No...No, she was asleep. Well, partially. Surely she couldn't...couldn't __**mean**__ it?_ Sherlock began to ponder his own feeling towards her, silently questioning all he felt. Could it really be _love_? Lust...Passion, he was feeling? Maybe he should've left earlier, so he wouldn't have to hear such a thing. His mind was becoming clogged with all of the confusion and foreign emotions in which had all hit him at once. Within this room. Within that night. He took her arm and slowly removed it from his torso as he sat himself up. Legs hanging over the edge of the bed, hands running over his face in a manner of vex, Sherlock then, un-hesitantly stood to leave to John's room. As he started to the door, re-doing his top buttons, he glanced over his shoulder to Adriana; and couldn't quite help himself when he returned to her side and rested a blanket over her gently, kissing her forehead as if dismissing himself from a life he was aware he couldn't live. "Good night." He whispered faintly, before leaving the room and heading upstairs.


	10. Chapter 10

**Thank you all for your patience and your reviews! I'll be uploading a ton, hopefully soon! 3 Flames will be used to boil water for macaroni and cheese. **

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After somehow managing to find herself sleeping calmly and deeply for the better part of the evening and waking up feeling somehow refreshed, Adriana was suddenly aware of the fact that she was also waking up alone. Hm. She could have sworn that she had slept with Sherlock the night before... the whole memory was rather fresh in her head, actually. Though he had probably gotten up earlier than her; a pity he hadn't woken her, since she disliked the very faint sensation of being abandoned. _Don't be so dramatic, or clingy. Honestly, one night with a guy and you're already turning into the sort of girl you always hated. _That voice of hers seemed like a blend between an older sister, a sassy best friend, and a huge buzz kill.Sitting up in bed and combing a hand through her mussed hair, she made a mental note to clean herself up a bit this morning. Probably after she saw Sherlock again. Her heart fluttered a little bit just at thinking of her name, and as she got out of bed, her mind started to prattle on about how she was such a schoolgirl. She turned it into background noise and glanced into the mirror, neatening her hair. The little voice in the back of her head would occasionally peep up with something like _'honestly, you're ridiculous.' _or _'you should do something more dignified with your time than getting involved with a guy'. _None of the things that managed to really convince her of much, since she had thought a lot about this already and decided that maybe being attached to a guy wouldn't kill her. She left his room and strode down the hallway into the kitchen, smoothing down the wrinkles in her clothing that she had obtained from sleeping in them. Mindlessly humming 'No One like you' (another Scorpion song, _of course_) Adriana decided to put on the kettle since Sherlock didn't appear to be awake yet.

Laying in John's bed, glaring up to the ceiling, Sherlock had found himself again hardly getting any sleep. The cracks of sunlight escaping from gaps in the curtains made him aware of that. From where he was, he heard a faint sound of boiling water; suggesting Adriana was already awake and preparing herself a breakfast. _Okay, Sherlock. Nothing happened. Nothing at all. You just need to... Really discreetly return her to Mycroft. Yes, and she'd tell him all about Moriarty. And then Sherlock, that's when you'll be lectured on your carelessness and ignorance, as you were completely oblivious to his presence. __**No**__. You __**can't**__ do that to Adriana. And don't you dare ask why. You know exactly why. You love her. _Slamming shut his eyes, Sherlock groaned slightly as he ran a hand down his face. _Wake up. Wake up. Wake up. _He mentally cursed, slapping himself harder each time. He sat up, in the bed, eyes looking briefly to his attire he'd tossed to the floor earlier on last night in order to get comfortable. Right, first thing was to shower, he decided. He stood hesitantly, wrapping the longer blanket around his shoulders; completely covering his body. He opened the door and somewhat limped down the staircase, making his way into the apartment. After closing the door behind him, Sherlock tried his best-and succeeded- to avoid eye contact with Adriana. Or greeting her with a 'Good morning.' Or a little hug from behind. Or a kiss. **_No_**_. No, __**no**__. Stop it._ A small twitch began in his left eye to his nervousness, and Sherlock made his way down to the bathroom with his gaze focused intently upon his destination. _No_ _distractions_.

While pouring the hot water into a mug, Adriana glanced up and saw Sherlock. Extending a small greeting, though trailing off when it wasn't returned, she couldn't help but notice that he appeared to have slept in John's room. She bit the side of her lip, watching as he retreated into the bathroom. Well, he... he hadn't been very comfortable with his emotions last night, right? So maybe he changed his mind or something for a moment. Maybe he had gotten a bit uncomfortable or something. Maybe she had had a nightmare and freaked him out. Maybe he had gotten too hot. There were explanations, right? _Oh, come on. You're deluding yourself. What he did was probably out of pity, if anything. _Why are you such a downer, inner voice? She couldn't help but think, frowning slightly. _He slept in a different room, nor did he bother to say hello to her. _Maybe he wasn't a morning person. _You're the one who's so insistent upon ignorance not being bliss. Christ, listen to yourself! _Shut up, she thought sharply, taking a long drink of tea. She decided to distract herself from her really pessimistic inner voice by examining her foot. She let out a long breath and glanced down at it; the inflammation had gone down, and it was mostly just red now, and reminded her of a birthmark. A painful birthmark, yes, but still- at least her foot wasn't swelling up. Then again, if it was, she would at least have something to focus on other than her negative subconscious or her one-sided relationship with Sherlock.

The door somewhat slammed shut behind him, and Sherlock groaned a little when on his own to his indiscreet upset. _Why can't you just be rational for one blasted moment, hmm? Why? Tell me that_. Un-hesitantly, Sherlock dropped the blanket from around his body and stood into the shower with dead eyes; clearly lost in thought. Normal people spent most time in the shower to think, he had clearly deduced. Though, he just used it for hygiene purposes. Music was his escape. Well, that or a mass amount of nicotine. But the situation he was in was hardly bad enough to succumb to cigarettes. ... Of course. Switching on the shower, Sherlock instantly got down to cleaning his hair with the essentials, as water began to fall onto his curls and roll down his shoulders; covering his face in the water as it pattered upon his skin. It didn't take long, but after finally leaving the shower and brushing his teeth-spending most of that time avoiding to look to his reflection in the mirror opposite, in case his mind wondered off some place to thinking how Adriana was to see himself, as a man-Sherlock left the bathroom with a towel around his waist and the blanket in his hand. He slipped into his bedroom swiftly, quickly folding the blanket and resting it upon his bed after entering. He sighed shortly, running a hand through his damp hair before making his way over to the draws filled with his clothing, grabbing a simple black dress shirt and trousers before changing into them. When changed, Sherlock stood for a while in silence, rubbing the towel over his hair roughly. Maybe Adriana would be able to understand his stubbornness, and leave it all at that. Though, from what he had gathered she hadn't yet noticed. The Detective threw the towel into a corner of his room before leaving and walking straight over to his violin. _Music not nicotine_, he thought repeatedly.

_... And that's about the fiftieth reason why last night was actually an inane dream of yours, and couldn't ever have happened in real life. _As her mind finished complaining about her emotions, Adriana considered for a moment going to a psychiatrist, since her inner voice seemed more like a sign of schizophrenia than some sort of sagacious side of her. Though she hadn't actually started speaking aloud to herself, so she supposed that was good. The last thing she needed was to start acting all Gollum-y and obsessive. She sighed, sitting down in the chair that she had designated as hers for the time being, and took a small sip of tea. _Or maybe you're already insane, and that's the reason that you think Sherlock slept with you. _Oh, shut up. _You shut up. _I'm definitely insane, she decided with a small, breathy laugh. A moment later, she heard Sherlock walk out of the bathroom and into the bedroom again, and she resisted the urge to turn around in her chair to look at him. It couldn't have been a dream- it felt far too real. She could remember the way that it felt to have her head in the crook of his arm, and how it was to have his arm around her. Safe. For once. She never felt safe, and she knew there was no way she could have reproduced that in a dream. She rearranged herself so that her legs were tucked loosely to her chest, and she was balancing the tea in between her knees. God, all this drama and you haven't even spoken to him this morning. _You're just as bad as a teenage girl. _Come to think of it, this irritating second voice of hers hadn't popped up until she had started to come to terms with her emotions for Sherlock. Probably since she had never second-guessed herself before, or doubted herself. Before this rather obvious revelation was complete, she was aware of Sherlock hurrying through the kitchen and to his violin. She cleared her throat. "Good morning?" She sipped her tea, keeping her eyes trained on him.

Fiddling with the instrument as he took it from the case, Sherlock huffed a short "Is it?" in a mutter, before swiftly bringing the violin to his shoulder, preparing a bow at the ready. His back was kept to Adriana, for obvious reasons. The violin was a distraction, after all. _Maybe I should go into a different room, the whole thing is a little ironic. No. Be discreet._Sherlock turned to glance over his shoulder, reading Adriana's facial expression-and noticing those attentive eyes upon him-quite well, before turning back._Not being very discreet so far. Option two is ridiculous. You can't. And, lord, you know how bad cigarettes are. Remember coming across the evidence one time in a tobacco ash?_ His mind quickly calculated ASH to being the initials of Adriana. Adriana Selene Hartford- _Oh, God. Shut up. Drop it. You're insane_. Sherlock cleared his throat, very quickly realizing how Adriana was lingering in all sorts of places in his mind. Even places he'd venture to continue with his life before. _This isn't_working. _This won't work. Nicotine. I need some God damn-ha!_ The man, stood for a while in a very long silence, finally dropped his posture and returned his violin to its case before hurrying over to the fireplace, and crouching before it. He quickly took apart any décor scattered along the bottom in search for nicotine patches he recalled hiding a while back. Before his 'death'. Though there only seemed to be one. With a short roll of his eyes, Sherlock stood and glanced momentarily over to the woman sat in John's seat. He stood for a moment or two, battling with his brain, refusing it to go into any thought at all. Though he failed horribly, and began thinking of how confused Adriana might've been. Which was _very_, going by the look on her face. Sherlock started to the door, and muttered a short "I'm going out." before opening it and hurrying down the stairs towards the coat rack. He needed more nicotine patches, and he needed fresh air. Lots of it.

It was clear; painfully so, that if they had done anything the previous night, it was forgotten. Which was a pity, since Adriana doubted she had ever slept that well before... and because Sherlock was incredible and she did feel an undeniable sort of... longing for him. _Creepy. _But it wasn't- it was more... caring excessively. _Still skirting around the word 'love', are we? _Her idiotic inner voice had shut down when she had gotten close to him as well; it had been a conclusion to her war with herself, though Sherlock obviously regretted it, so the war had returned. She needed another conclusion of some kind. Something that would end her need for him to l- care for her back. She couldn't deny her feelings forever- she wasn't that good- though she could at least hide them from him. _Act_ as if it wasn't anything. Good start. Maybe she could turn to alcohol again. _You'd turn to substance abuse because of some guy? Christ, you're pathetic. _It was just a thought. Maybe she could just leave; return to what she had been doing before. Sure, it would hurt, but at least she'd have something to do with herself to distract her from her broken heart. _Drama queen. Though that is a good idea. _She barely glanced up when Sherlock said that he was going out, far too occupied with her own thoughts and slight dismay. After another long moment of sitting in silence, she stood and walked to the bathroom, deciding she needed to shower. Then she could pack what little things she had managed to collect here, and catch the next plane for her next destination. If Moriarty hadn't moved- she would need to do some sort of research. Sighing softly as she undressed, she thought about the regret to relief ratio that would come of this. She would have to be more relieved to be gone than regret leaving, otherwise it would all be for naught. On a whim, she turned the water in the shower to cold; it helped her focus, it was better for the skin, and it built up tolerance to both cold and pain. After cleaning herself up, she decided that leaving wouldn't work. She'd regret it more than she would feel relieved. Maybe in ten years, it would pay off, but that was ten years of emotional pain that she couldn't handle. She got dressed again, and ran her fingers through her hair- which had gotten far too long, even if the longest part reached chin level- before taking a deep breath and walking back out into the flat, feeling more lost in her situation than she had previously.

After a failed attempt at tracking down the acceptable substance of nicotine he wanted, Sherlock regrettably settled for grabbing himself some cigarettes, - Strong tar, of course - and soon found himself standing away in an alley somewhere in the city; avoiding people for as long as possible, Adriana on her own being too much to comprehend. This plan of hiding away-the only satisfaction being that of the cigarette fumes as they slowly ate away at his lungs- worked for about an hour or two, before he was rudely interrupted by a familiar curt cough to his left. Sherlock kept his eyes upon the ground, and let out a huff of smoke. "You're welcome." He muttered, finally glancing over to Mycroft who stood with hardly a trace of emotion upon his face. "Rid of the girl." Stated his brother, an umbrella by his side as finally a brief look of disappointment flickered through his eyes. How could he possibly know? Thought Sherlock. _You're really quite bad at the whole 'discreetly hiding your emotions' thing_. _How couldn't he know_? He was stood alone in an alley, clearly turning back to cigarettes to calm the craving which had snuck upon him when in a moment of vex. Not because of John, no. Sherlock never got that upset over John. He had correctly guessed Adriana was the problem. And probably, now, as they stood in silence, his brother was deducing further into the topic. "Sherlock." Interrupted Mycroft, giving him a look of warning. "I don't know what you're talking about-" Began Sherlock in response, with a short roll of his eyes, before yet again being cut off by the taller man. "You do. Of course you do. You know damn well what I'm talking about, Sherlock. One case. That was our agreement. One case; and look how much she's ruined you already." Turning sharply to the man opposite him, Sherlock threw his cigarette rather violently to the ground. There was no point in denying it. "Or what? What will you do if I refuse?" There was a moment of silence, and for a while, Mycroft looked somewhat stupefied. At a loss for words. Had Sherlock really implied what he thought? Was he really going to...object?! _Pfft, no_. Mycroft parted his lips, though the words left Sherlock's mouth; "Moriarty is alive. She told me that. There's more we need to know, and I'll gather the necessary information. Interrogation isn't needed when I can so easily seduce her." Snapped Sherlock, quickly trying to amend his previous sentence. The look on Mycroft's face confirmed that what he had said had made some sort of sense, and left him slightly confounded. And soon, Mycroft left with a short and rather brusque "You have one week."

As it turned out, killing time was very difficult. Adriana found that she seemed to have an affinity for getting bored very easily. She contemplated going out and trying to find Sherlock, though that would take too long, and in the end, even if she did find him, it would come off as a tad stalker-ish. Eventually, she herself decided she might as well go out. She did need something to wear other than her current attire. Picking up some of the credit cards that she had gotten, as well as some loose change, she slipped on what was left of her boots and went outside to get a cab. She probably would have gotten a credit card of her own by now, except that people who were legally deceased, for some reason, couldn't apply for one. She'd gotten into 'the system' and changed what little identification there was of her to say she had died by multiple shark bites, bullet wounds, and lava. It was much easier to operate under fake identities. After a brief cab ride, a trip to the mall, and another brief cab ride, Adriana returned to the flat with several shopping bags. Though she utterly despised malls, and shopping, she had somewhat enjoyed getting out of the flat, only because she managed to take her mind off of Sherlock temporarily. He didn't appear to be home yet. She shrugged, figuring that she had survived this long without him. She climbed the sets of stairs until she got to John's room, where she kept her bag and her gun, and decided to change; she had been wearing the same thing for about two days now, after all, and she had been hit with an undeniable urge to impress Sherlock. She shed her tank top, shorts, and leggings and tossed them to the floor. In replacement, she tugged on a black form-fitting, low-cut shirt with a vibrant paint splatter pattern across the right side, as well as skinny jeans. True, her time in Serbia had been difficult, though at least she was thin enough to wear tight jeans. _Are you seriously condoning starvation? _Hush up, it's more of a point about how impossible jeans are, she thought strictly. She wrapped her arms in a navy blue blazer, which seemed a bit out of place with the rest of her outfit, though it looked rather good all the same. She walked downstairs; hungry, she got an apple from the fridge and started to eat. Was it really difficult to find something to do without Sherlock around?

A rather long while after Mycroft's harsh dismiss, Sherlock returned to Baker Street, and looked upon the door for a moment or two of 221B, a cigar in his hand. He supposed in a way Mycroft was right. _Mycroft is always right, you're the stupid one, remember?_ Oh, shut it. I'm not going to be convinced into changing my mind. There was a pause in the mental conversation with himself, before he silently added and unsure 'certainly not.' Not by thoughts of his damned brother, anyway. With another short inhaling of the fumes from the cigarette, Sherlock unlocked the door before him and threw the 'death-on-a-stick' thing to the floor with a slight frown. That was one of his weaknesses. And, God, how he hated associating himself with regular people's problems. Addictions. Boredom. Lov-_no. What_? By now, Sherlock was halfway up the staircase-door already closed behind him and outerwear upon the coat rack- and he paused to the thought. You weren't...seriously...going to... No. Don't even _think_that. Not after yesterday. Not after those horrendous thoughts this morning. He cleared his throat, and ran a hand roughly through his hair before proceeding to finish the staircase. With his head slightly bowed, Sherlock walked into his apartment and took a seat into his armchair. Everything was somewhat silent, and shortly after seating himself, the man glanced up and over towards the kitchen; eyes lingering over the woman stood before him. New attire, he noted. So she must've spent her afternoon...not here. Not sulking over him. Sherlock evidently frowned to this, being slightly disappointed somewhat. He had spent all afternoon, all morning, even, thinking none-stop about her. And she went shopping? Being utterly ignorant towards her distraction, Sherlock parted his lips to say "Isn't it about time you get your own credit card?" Maybe he could falsely seduce her. Maybe everything he was feeling was in order to conjure a new plan. Sherlock silently began convincing himself into the brief suggestion made earlier to Mycroft, no matter how absurd. He really had to make sense of everything. If he did so, and played with her emotions carelessly-'twas a human error, after all- Mycroft wouldn't be so...suspicious. He could prove him right. Yes. A small internal smile sparked within him, though it faded as he paid attention to his eyes, and continued starting to Adriana attentively. She hardly has any emotions. _What if she's only using you to... I don't know, provide a free accommodation for her? What if you're underestimating her, like the other one? _

For some odd reason, the appearance of Sherlock made Adriana feel a bit happier. Peppier, or more... she didn't really know what the word was, though once he was there, she did feel a little fluttering in her chest. She knew why, of course, though she didn't want to admit it, and she decided to go with 'for some odd reason'. Denial was so easy. Perhaps it would catch up to her in the long run, though the present was all that she was really concerned about at the moment. She glanced into the living room and grinned at him. He was so handsome, she found herself thinking, staring at him for a brief moment with a dreamy expression. Those eyes, and hair, and amazing cheekbones... Christ, it was nearly impossible to have any self-restraint around him after last night, she had to admit. "Ah, well..." She ran a hand through her hair, mostly looking for something to do with her hands other than wrap them around his neck. "It's sort of hard to get a credit card when you're legally dead." She giggled, admittedly; that had been the first serious hacking that she'd ever done, and she was more than a little bit proud of it. "If you look me up on any government database, it'll say I died at age 16 of shark bites, bullets, and lava." She walked into the living room and studied Sherlock for a moment, taking in his features for a moment and relishing them before clearing her throat and settling down in the armchair across from him. "Where were you, if you don't mind my asking?" She asked. _Way to sound clingy. _It's not clingy, I'm just asking a question. _Whatever. It sounds clingy_. Shut up. _If you were doing this out loud, you'd sound insane. _Yeah, probably. Good thing I'm not doing this out loud.

For the while he was sat, gazing upon Adriana with hidden awe (or so he hoped it was hidden-the length he had actually remained sat, staring to her, implied otherwise) Sherlock's thoughts, mental rants and small theories as to why she was seemingly ignorant towards his exclusion of her presence suddenly came to a halt. Locking her eyes with his own, and quite abruptly being thrown from the trance-like state he appeared to be in, Sherlock then flickered his eyes elsewhere. They remained upon the wall to his left, studying the bullet holes which had penetrated the wallpaper and the roughly painted smiley face; small drips of dried yellow paint hanging from the lining. "Out." He stated, rather curtly._You sound like a teenager_. "Sharks and lava? That's not really a realistic combination." Sherlock said, helplessly turning to look back to Adriana with one eyebrow raised, smoothly changing the subject to where it should be, and avoiding the possible mention of his flaws; his addictions. A topic he didn't really enjoy to discuss. Soon afterwards the man mentally cursed at himself for sounding somewhat too concerned. No, it was criticizing._You sounded concerned. You're wanting her to change the damn cause of death so she'll stay safe. There's no way that's getting past Moriarty_. Quickly dismissing the argumentative voice in which had returned without an order, Sherlock found himself awkwardly clearing his throat in a more realistic attempt in doing so.

Shrugging and pouting slightly, Adriana folded her arms over her chest. "I was a teenager when I did that, alright? Don't judge. And besides, I operate under false identities- if anyone does find out my name, the fact that I'm legally dead makes it nearly impossible to do anything against me." She paused, pressing her lips into a thin line. She strode into the kitchen and tossed the core of her apple into the rubbish, before returning to the living room and flopping onto the chair, her legs over one arm and her arms over the other. She wondered if she should bring up the previous night. Pros and cons would all depend on his reaction. If he was still interested in her... well, the pros would be that Adriana would continue sleeping well, and have some form of a solid, mutual relationship, and she'd be able to make Sherlock happy, and about a thousand other good things. The cons... Er, well, someone could use Sherlock against her, and she'd be trusting him with her feelings and her heart. If he wasn't interested... the pros would be that she could easily detach from this situation, and she could continue with her normal life of explosions, firearms, Mata Hari tactics, and hunting down Moriarty. The cons would, obviously, be an irreparably broken heart. _Drama que-e-en. _Either way, speaking to him about it did have a certain equilibrium in the events. Would not speaking to him be better? She glanced over at him and decided definitely not, as his black dress shirt outlined his lean physique in a rather impossibly attractive sort of way. "Er..." She closed her eyes for a moment. "Last night..." She opened her emerald eyes, her brow furrowed. "Last night." She cleared her throat. "We need to talk about it."

_Nearly impossible_. Sherlock couldn't help but notice she said _'nearly'_. _Oh, stop being so anxious! Worrying makes you weak; and when you're weak, you're _**_nothing_**. The internal voice lingering in his head brought Sherlock great discomfort, as it was suddenly becoming quite...candid. Quite abrupt, also. He was soon to notice that the voice wasn't the only thing in the room in which was candid and abrupt. Sherlock could be too, at times, though right now it was Adriana's turn, or so it seemed. Marvelous. She wants to do that talking thing. _What did I tell you? She has found emotion and she's not letting it go. Add 'determined' to your list of adjectives. _"Yes." Agreed Sherlock, falsely. _Act as it never happened_. Without moving his eyes from her own, the detective continued to speak; "I see your foot has healed slightly. Limping has lessened rather dramatically. Though, I suppose you could've gotten used to it... Nah, too soon. And it's a burn, after all. Yes, it's healing well. So tonight you'll be taking John's room, until it's mended completely. And then you can go off and look for that hotel, hmm?" Such audacity. _Dammit_, voice.**_ Why did I have to do that?_** The wait for a response was painfully slow, and so Sherlock returned to his feet and nodded once. "Good." He said, before turning to stand before a window, unable to look to Adriana for a second longer; somewhat ashamed by himself. Shoving his hands into his trouser pockets, Sherlock remained for a while in silence, looking out upon the street before him with vexatious indignation welling in the pit of his stomach.

Eyes following Sherlock hesitantly, Adriana rearranged herself on the chair and tucked her legs up to her chest, falling silent for a moment. It was painfully obvious that Sherlock didn't want to talk about this; he was just shutting her out and bottling up his feelings. _Again_. She had really thought that they were over this. "You know that's not what I'm talking about." She said softly, glancing down at the ground. "I'm talking about how you kissed me, managed to open up emotionally by some miracle, then spooned me to sleep, then ditched me during some point in the night and went and slept in the other room." She curtly summarized, standing and looking over at Sherlock with a frown in her eyes. "You know, a guy once broke up with me by attempting to assassinate me seven times, which wasn't fun, though I'd prefer him wielding an MK-15 than if he were to act as if we never happened." It was surprisingly difficult to stand ground during this argument. She was getting too emotional, and she knew it; her chest kept aching from her heart pounding, or possibly making some effort to rip out of her abdomen, and it was hard to speak too much without her throat constricting. There was clearly something very wrong with her, though at the moment, the only cure seemed to be some sort of physical contact with Sherlock, or maybe an intense dose of anesthesia. Or alcohol. "You said that you'd lock me up if it meant keeping me safe, and suddenly you want me gone. Make a decision and stay with it, because I really don't want to deal with your bipolar whims." That was a little bit too harsh, and she knew it, though she wasn't thinking clearly enough to be concerned about it.

Turning swiftly on his heels, to face Adriana rather abruptly, Sherlock snapped an irritated "There's nothing to discuss. Nothing happened, Adriana." There was a pause in his speech, and within that time he began to silently contemplate his answer. God, he had to make a decision. And he had to make it...well, _now_. How was he supposed to do that without either hurting her or himself? "I'm not 'breaking up' with you. And I'm certainly not asking you to deal with my 'bipolar whims'! I've made the suggestion for you to leave. Now you either go, or shut up about the whole thing. You're giving me a headache."_Now that was a tad bit mean, wasn't it Sherlo_- "Oh, shut it." He muttered aloud, in a sharp whisper; "You can be quiet, too." He snapped, turning half-way so he was no longer facing Adriana, but holding his temple with nails digging into his skin. The only emotion Sherlock seemed to manage right now was anger. Rage. Ironically, all as consequence to his difficulty expressing affection. Just the mention of last night brought all sorts of discomforts to him. The way it felt with Adriana in his arms... The way he made her peaceful, even if for a split second... And it was all so mutual... Sherlock huffed a short sigh, slowly flicking his gaze to Adriana with another emotion returning: Sorrow. "Sorry." He mumbled, apologetically. "But staying here would most likely bring you more..._danger_...and..." _Lost for words? That's a first. Spit it out, Sherlock. Although, you are sounding rather frail... As if you're about to break again. About to snap._

And there he was, doing it all over again; switching between protective and hateful in the blink of an eye. She moved her crossed arms to around herself, letting out a small sigh. "I don't want to forget about it." She said stubbornly, looking down at the ground. She didn't want to leave, either. She sighed and crumpled a little bit, looking slightly weakened. "I've... I've never cared about anyone as much as I care about you." She murmured, closing her eyes and staring down at the rug. "I can't explain it. I don't think I'll ever be able to. I... I can't accept that my only two options are to either completely forget the one night where I actually managed to attain some kind of happiness, or to leave just because there might be some kind of danger involved in staying with you." She loosened her arms from around herself, looking up at Sherlock with an almost agonized look in her eyes. Why was this so painful? Songs and such always acted like caring for someone was something wonderful and blissful and would feel like dancing on rainbows or some other complete exaggerated tosh. She took a deep breath and wrapped her arms around herself again, her heart aching. "There's more danger if I leave, you know." She muttered under her breath. "But since I'm not going to 'shut up about it', I suppose I still have work to do, considering Moriarty is still out there." She turned on her heel, starting through the doorway to the living room. "I'll leave." Her eyes were stinging slightly, and she blushed, feeling embarrassed that she was getting so weak about this. Before any sort of sob could become audible, she climbed the stairs to John's room, where her things were.

For the while Adriana was out of sight, she wasn't however, out of mind. Out of _his_mind. Sherlock couldn't take knowing that the next time he'd see her could probably be with Moriarty holding a gun to her head. And then he'd pull the trigger, and all that he'd be left with would be but a corpse. "Adriana." He found himself whispering, not being too sure as to why. Though it slowly started to make sense; Hell, he didn't want her to leave. She couldn't. Not when they felt so strongly about each other. _But you're not making that clear, are you? Your feelings?_ Sherlock strolled out onto the hallway, and stood at the end of the staircase leading to John's room. "Adriana." He repeated, though a bit louder. _What are you to say next, hmm? Go on, do continue. You're the genius. Right?_**_Wrong_**_. Just doing this is decaying your intelligence and turning you into one utter idiot_. He repeated her name once more, so desperately wanting her attention, though turning to a man of arrant speechlessness quite suddenly afterwards; also yearning to rid of that constant voice echoing within his head with unhelpful thoughts. She's right. I suppose I really need to make up my mind... And do it quite soon or she'll be gone. Forever. _Oh, stop being so melodramatic. Drama queen_. "Shut up, John." He snapped in a short and barely audible whisper, before turning his gaze to look upon the staircase; now seemingly immortal, and ongoing, almost as if it grew. He felt farther away from Adriana now than he ever did. It was a dreadful feeling.

So far, there had only been three occasions when Adriana had cried because of emotional pain. Her father's death, obviously, and the hospital, and after an episode of Doctor Who. And... well, _now_, she decided she would have to add. Her eyes stung rather painfully, and were already starting to let out several tears while she started to collect her things. _Shot through the heart, and you're to blame... _Her inner mind sang. That was helpful; that song was probably going to be stuck in her head for two weeks. If her inner voice had some sort of human form, it would probably be something like her little sister, who kept poking her head into Adriana's matters and was really obnoxious about all of them instead of being helpful, like an older sister. Feeling aggravated with herself, she wiped away the tears and sat down on the edge of the bed. She reminded herself to breathe, and reminded herself to keep her crying as silent as possible. She heard Sherlock calling her name, and she sighed a little bit. What did he want now? As much as she wanted to ignore him, she did have the faint sliver of hope that he was going to say something that would somehow make this slightly better. She stood up and sniffed, before wiping away any other tears and clearing her throat and walking to the door. Normally, she felt... strong, maybe, was the right word. But now, the young woman couldn't help but feel weak and helpless. She didn't like the sensation. She paused in the doorway, looking down the stairs at Sherlock. "Yes?" She asked, leaning against the wall and folding her arms over her chest, figuring she could at the very least appear her usual self even when she didn't feel at all like it.

It took an awful long time for some response to be given, and within that time Sherlock only thought of the worse. Maybe she was so desperate to leave she jumped through the damn window. Though when taken into deeper contemplation, it was titled as humorous, causing the man to chuckle in the faintest way internally to himself. There were many others, though the one that seemed to stand primary above all other scenarios, was the silent suggestion that maybe... Maybe she'd fallen out of love with him. That she could flick of her caring switch with ease. That he had lost the one of few persons, probably within the entire universe, to care for him- As Sherlock didn't really believe in that 'different dimensions' nonsense. Whoever conjured that theory _must_ be placed into a mental asylum. His eyes brightened suddenly and all thoughts came to a stop, when darting his gaze over to Adriana's voice. Okay. Now what? What do I say? The truth? ... _That's all you __**can**__ say, really._ "You must leave, Adriana. You really must... I just want you to be aware that I don't necessarily want you to. Because..." _Oh god, now you need to provide a reason. Why elaborate on your point?_ "Because I suppose... In a way... I care about you too." He half-mumbled, scratching the back of his head hesitantly and in a manner of nervousness. _You sound ridiculous. Completely absurd. There was no point in saying that, especially when you mean it. At least have the decency to comprehend the matter first. _

Falling silent for a moment, Adriana glanced down at the ground again, not wanting to say anything. It was rather clear that he cared about her, to some degree, judging by the previous night's incidents; but he still was having her leave. Even when he'd admitted it, he was still bloody scared of his own emotions, enough so that he'd get rid of Adriana. She glanced back up at him- glared, really- and shook her head slightly. "You're only confessing that now because you don't want to feel guilty about making me leave." Her voice had come close to breaking, and she had to pause to take a deep breath. "You want me to think that you're doing all of this to 'protect' me or whatever, and that I 'have' to leave, when really, it's because you're scared that you might actually care about someone. You're doing it to protect yourself, if anyone." Her voice, damnably, had cracked again, though she kept talking, ignoring the shaky tone she'd been reduced to using. "Yes, you've confessed to it, but what have you done to prove it? You don't trust me, even after I've nearly told you half my life story; you hurt me on purpose, and even if it was on accident, you wouldn't apologize; you're cruel, and I, for some bizarre reason, still have managed to care about you." She ran her thumb over the bottom of her left eyelid, cursing inwardly. That irritating voice seemed to have shut up for the moment, despite her emotional frailty. Maybe being honest was what did it. "And you're still making me leave. At least do me the service of not acting all noble about it." She added bitterly, before turning on her heal and walking back into the bedroom. Admittedly, being honest had hurt a lot more than staying quiet about her emotions, since now she had possibly hurt Sherlock... God, why did she constantly have to remind herself to stop thinking about how he felt? Adriana had expected some sort of rude answer from her subconscious, though it seemed to have fallen mute. Probably because this was a conclusion to the whole ordeal; not a pleasant one, but still, a conclusion.

At the moment, Sherlock was at a loss for words. For actions. As much as he tried to avoid giving himself a truthful answer as to why, he couldn't fall ignorant for one second longer. He knew why Adriana's words had such a massive effect on him. And that was because what she had said was the truth, and yes, he had underestimated her. Underestimated her intelligence and high observant skills. Or was he just being carelessly obvious? Either way, he knew sooner or later he had to prove how he felt, provide honest evidence for the words he spoke, even if he found it to be difficult. _Sherlock, you have to_. Hesitantly, he started up the staircase, strolling into John's room with more conviction then before; evident from his posture and facial expression. "You're right about many, yet wrong about _one_thing. I do trust you. And that's the problem. Trusting, caring, sentiment- all of it combined or remaining individual is trouble in itself! And you, Adriana, bring every single one of those blasted emotions to me. I'm sorry I can't quite control them, or comprehend them, as they are new and unexpected. I've never-quite obviously-encountered emotions as such. And I wasn't really intending to until..." His voice finally trailed of, thus leaving Sherlock to inhale slowly in order to emit a sigh. _Calm down. You don't know what you're doing... but you wouldn't, would you? You're_**_no_******_excuse for a man. Can't handle such an easy situation?_Clearing his throat, attempting again to silence the voice, Sherlock stared back to Adriana with eyes full of fire, burning in a manner of desperation. Desperation to be saved? Found? Understood? _God knows_, but it was defiantly there. "...Well, until you." He concluded, gesturing to Adriana lazily before turning his back to her; taking his hands and running them through his hair.

Straightening up, Adriana turned to glance over at him. She had expected him to leave after her outburst; possibly go and play his violin or go into his head or whatever it was he did. She would almost prefer that, in fact- getting the last word and all. But she listened to him all the same, because she knew that deep down, she still cared deeply about him and her words, while harsh and entirely true, had come from spur of the moment anger, instead of real resentment. He kept turning his back to her, she noticed; every time they spoke about this kind of thing, he'd turn away. That was rather telling. She thought this all over during a heavy, lingering silence following his words, while fidgeting with the hem on her shirt. "Sorry for If it's all new and foreign to you... I mean, that doesn't make it bad. You don't have to push them away, you know. You're choosing to, for whatever reason." She murmured, some of her earlier fire gone, replaced by sorrow and regret. "I wish you could've given me more of a chance. Given feeling something more of a chance." Mr. Spock...

_Okay, Sherlock. Now you prove to her how you feel. She's talking in past tense, it's becoming official. Don't let her go_. Oh, For God's sake. What side do you stand for? Make up your mind. _No, you make up YOUR mind_. The mental argument with himself grew larger by the second, slowly eating away at is sanity. "You don't understand..." He muttered, slowly turning to face Adriana. "I'm thinking like a mad man. And it all came on... so suddenly. Of course it feels bad. It feels so good it's bad and just-" _Sherlock, conjure the God damn audacity to say so. She's leaving now, anyway. This'll be the last time to-_ To what? Make a fool of myself? Thank the lord. ... _No, to tell her how you feel_. Sherlock sighed shortly to the persistent voice, looking to Adriana attentively. Subconsciously, and flicking off his logical thinking without really realizing so, he began to approach her, eyes un-moving from her own. "It's more than caring. Hell, I fear that I may..." His voice cracked a little due to the discomfort, and the first pronouncing of the word; "That I may even _love_you."


	11. Chapter 11

**Well, how long did you think I was going to leave you in suspense? WARNING: This chapter contains sort of kinda graphic (not really) romance and a lot of kissing and generally very boring stuff of the sort. Shield your eyes, kiddos!**

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It took a moment for Sherlock's words to actually register in Adriana's head. Her emerald eyes blinked twice, her entire expression on of shock and nearly disbelief. He wouldn't lie about something like that, though; he had no reason to, other than to be needlessly cruel. Besides... /love/ wasn't really a word to be tossed around, and he knew it just as well as she did. She took a half step back, pausing with her right leg behind her and her left in front, which was coincidentally an attack stance. She took in a deep, silent breath, trying to figure out whether he was asking her to stay, or trying to convince her to leave. Maybe he had only said it because he thought she was going to leave. She stepped forward slightly, keeping their eye contact, and silently screamed at herself for not having any idea what to do. Fibonacci wasn't going to help distract her from how much she wanted to kiss him; the Quadratic formula wouldn't stop her from crying when he undoubtedly pushed her away, for his protection and hers- numbers were failing her, for once. She couldn't very well yell at him again, since even she couldn't stand for that cruelty- she couldn't use her fiery spirit, and she couldn't use numbers; what did she have other than that? Not much, really. "You..." She swallowed thickly. "... Love me?" Adriana had to confirm. Her bag slid down one of her arms, hanging loosely in the empty space between the floor and her arm, dangling almost like some sort of question. "Do you want me to stay or go?"

Suddenly stopping on his step, and resisting to turn his back to her again-_No, you have to face this, don't be a coward-_-Sherlock inhaled shortly when noticing Adriana's disbelief. Okay, maybe it wasn't so obvious. Maybe 'you have nothing to lose' was the incorrect way of thinking. He had lost his pride, for one. His sanity was suddenly inexistent alongside his consideration for others. He found himself caring for no one other than Adriana herself within this moment; and it took a long while of contemplation to comprehend. "You must leave." He muttered, staring to her with consistent desperation and want; almost like his eyes were saying something he couldn't. "You _must_. But, no... I don't want you to." _Why be so truthful now? Is that something that comes with expressing affection or-_- well, quite obviously! She really had to leave, though. The only image within Sherlock's head being that of Moriarty with her corpse spewed across the floor. If she stayed, she'd most probably end up encountering him. Though if she left, Sherlock wouldn't be there to protect her. To keep her safe. And away from him, as well as _Sebastian_. Mentally cursing at himself now for having equal arguments for each side, Sherlock finally flickered his gaze to the ground in a manner of stress. "I'm being ridiculous..." If she never had met him, never had been in the same cell with him back at Serbia, none of this would've happened. If he never asked for his damn handcuffs to be released... From what he could gather, Moriarty was most likely to be back in England. And England certainly wouldn't be the first place Adriana would've come to if escaped. "I'm sorry." He breathed, suddenly looking rather frail and weak, feeling small.

He meant it, she thought, feeling a sudden, irrational rush of giddiness. _This is serious, don't feel so happy! Besides, you're going to leave, even if he does love you. And you don't love. You care, but you do not love. _Adriana found that voice again, nagging in her head. But somehow, that made her happy too- this wasn't a conclusion. The outcome, however, she knew was entirely up to Sherlock. She couldn't push staying for too long, she knew that, and she couldn't just leave him like this. She took a deep breath, trying to think of some way that she could have an effect on the situation. While it pained her to say, she was mostly helpless. Pausing for only a moment, she reached out and took his hand in hers, thin, small fingers wrapping around his palm and the side of his thumb. "You could... I mean... what if you came with me?" She asked, glancing up at him with an equal sort of desperation in her eyes. "You want me to leave because you want me to be safe, yeah? Well, I want you to be safe too." She straightened up a little bit, dropping her backpack to the side. "There's a point that hasn't been raised- I'm not planning on seeing you killed because of that _snake. _She tightened her hand around his slightly, feeling somewhat stronger now that she had established more of a concern for Sherlock than a resentment. "I..." She wavered, the words stuck in her throat. "I love you." She managed after a moment. "And I don't want to see you lost." She slid her other hand behind his neck, tangling her fingers in the curls there. "Maybe you're the one who must leave, hm?"

When feeling her hand in his, yet again, Sherlock welcomed her warmth almost immediately, internally sighing a sigh of relief. It was nice to hear her echo his words when she was _fully _awake, her way of thinking being proper. Though, it could also be a bad thing. Oh, he couldn't focus on the bad right now. Adriana was here, and she was with him. The words which followed, however, brought mere confusion to him, though finding himself moving closer to Adriana as she took her other hand to his neck. "I-I..." _Ugh, stammering_. Sherlock sighed, and built the courage to continue. "Moriarty doesn't work like that. He doesn't just _kill_. He likes to play games... And coincidentally, so do I. I suppose our last game was a draw, but I'm intending to win the next." _Here we go again with the melodramatic nonsense._ "My point being: I'm in no danger. Don't worry about_ me_." Sherlock's eyes flickered rapidly from each of Adriana's, not once taking that marvelous iridescent colour for granted. "Anyway," He began, smiling a little despite the topic of conversation; "If I don't rid of Moriarty who will?" He took another long while to just remain silent, and admire her beauty. He couldn't let her leave...so suddenly... How absurd. Somebody I've virtually only just met has the odd capability to cause me to express emotions I've hardly ever come across. And I'm expected to just let them go? With ease? To these thoughts, Sherlock took a free hand to gently brush away lose strands of Adriana's hair from her face, sighing softly as he did so. _You're hopelessly stupid, you know that?_ Yes, I am aware. Thank you for the update.

Letting out a small sigh, Adriana glanced down at the ground again, trying to commit the way he brushed her hair away from her face to memory. She wished she didn't have to leave; that Moriarty didn't have such a damn stranglehold on the both of them. But he made some amount of sense, she supposed, and she was going to have to leave. It wasn't fair, though life was never really all that fair. She glanced up at Sherlock for a moment, hating that this was the only option. "I could kill him. Or help kill him. Or something, as long as... as I can stay with you." She murmured, though she doubted it would do much good. Convincing him she could stay hadn't worked, and it wouldn't now. Feel somewhat hopeless, she let go of his hand and let her arms fall to her sides for a moment. _We'll always have Serbia, _she thought, deciding it would be better not to say that aloud since it was a) a breakup line, and b) a misquote from 'Casablanca', which he probably hadn't seen. Though there had to be some way to say good bye without having to actually say it, right? Say something romantic or kiss him or... in a spur of the moment sort of move, she wrapped her arms tightly around his abdomen and embraced him tightly, setting her head on his right shoulder. The young woman could feel his chest underneath his shirt, and while she desperately did so want to tear the obstructing garment off of him, that seemed to defeat the sweet good bye aesthetic that she was attempting to create. She didn't want this to be the last time that she was able to be so close to him; how could she be expected to go back to her old life after experiencing his? After being _allowed_ into his? Not to mention, how was she ever going to summon the willpower to let go?

Shaking his head slowly in objection to Adriana's words, and then suddenly freezing on his actions as she embraced him in a hug, Sherlock found himself un-hesitantly returning the gesture; wrapping his arms around her torso and holding their bodies as close as seemingly possible. People, such as Mrs. Hudson, John, over-thankful clients even, would always hug him. Always leaving him to awkwardly stand until they released themselves. Though, now seemed to be the first time he had ever actually responded with the same thing. Surprising really, considering it took so long for him to finally give into somebody, yet it only took seconds and hardly any rational thinking. _That's your problem, isn't it? You think too God Damn much. Why can't she stay?_ Because of Moriarty... And Moran. _Why can't she leave_? Moriarty and Moran._ See? She'll have a better chance of survival if staying with you, you'll be able to protect her! _Sherlock sighed softly, slowly pulling away from the embrace and tugging the material hanging over Adriana's torso up gently with two fingers, revealing the faintest of scars resting over her stomach. Disdain was clear in his eyes, alongside a spark of animosity. He cleared his throat, dropping his hand and looking into her pupils with something far from defeat-Determination. "He'll die. I'll make sure of it. But I- ... You- ... "Sherlock sighed, brain abruptly failing to present words for him to use. _Oh, screw it. All of this thinking is getting you nowhere. Take a break, or something_. A "Stay." was whispered from his lips, shocking him definitely, though he refused to make it evident.

The way his fingers brushed over her scar made her shiver slightly, though she was far too accustomed to standing her ground to move away or push his hand away. Of course, once he had said that final word, she had to move, and pulled him close in another embrace. She relocated her head's position, however, so that she could easily press their lips together in a kiss. Christ, this was fast; she knew it was fast, though she didn't care one bit. They'd met only days ago, and yet... now they were confessing their love for each other and kissing. Their third kiss, she had to admit, was probably their best so far. The first time, she had kissed him since she thought she was going to die- which, now that she thought about it, was hilarious- and it had been frightful and desperate; hungry, even, and insatiable. The second time, he had kissed her; though that had been rather lovely, it was also a sort of... frustrated kiss. Though this one was quite wonderful. Both of them kissing, lips meeting, as well as skin, caused by relief and happiness instead of fright or vexation. Although Adriana would have liked to continue in such a vein about how amazing this kiss was emotionally, she decided to instead focus on the smooth, marble-esque texture of his lips, and the way they curved upwards naturally, and how... _screw it, just kiss him and leave thinking for later._

Well that was good, right? A confirmation perhaps. Sherlock instantly took either of his hands to her waist, and held her closer as this time, he kissed her back. And rather passionately at that. By now, the voice in his head was darting back and forth from demands and phrases such as_ 'What are you doing? This isn't what you _**_do_**_.' _to_ 'don't you feel better, now? Doesn't everything seem more transparent?'_ Meanwhile, his own thoughts trailed along the lines of 'She's beautiful. Marvelous in every way, and she could be mine.' _Oh, but what would Mycroft say about this? _Suddenly, Sherlock found himself pulling away and stammering backwards on his feet until his back was met harshly with a wall. No thought would have bothered him, in fact, none had. Until the mention of his brother. **Oh, damn him to Hell**, he thought sharply, before reaching forward to take Adriana's hand; pulling her closer again at a pace of leisure. "Sorry..." He whispered faintly, in honour of the rather random outburst of panic to momentarily flicker through his eyes. Pulling Adriana back, he somewhat instantly locked his lips with her own again, quite honestly detesting the feeling of their bodies not being close- and before that snarky mental voice of his could share it's opinion, or have any sort of input, Sherlock pushed her gently against the wall.

About to inquire about the sudden stumbling back and stammering that Sherlock had done, Adriana abruptly felt his lips claiming hers again, and a hard surface against her back, and Sherlock's abdomen against hers; at that point, most of her thoughts had cut out completely. Though she would normally feel somewhat trapped, since she was pinned between Sherlock and the wall, the sensation was instead rather enjoyable and mind-numbing. She let out a muffled noise, somewhere between a moan and a whimper- which normally would make her blush dark red, though now merely made her hope Sherlock had heard- and tangled her hands in his hair. She carded her fingernails through his curls, letting her lips part slightly, invitingly. Had she ever had this...? God, she didn't even know how to describe it... Connection? Adoration? Mutual something or other? for another person? No, probably not, which was part of what made this so incredibly ecstatic and blissful.

Just the thought of Adriana consumed his brain now, and if the voices inside of his head were to continue to object to his actions, they'd be saying something or the other disapproving of how careless he was being. But thankfully, the voices had silenced, and Sherlock found himself being quite free to do whatever he pleased; and so he allowed the largeness of his palms to run smoothly down her form as his tongue moved forward to invade her mouth, gracefully accepting the unvoiced invitation. Was he really partaking in such absurdity? Outrageousness? This was, after all highly uncharacteristic- something he'd never find himself doing under any circumstances, or so he thought. Though, of course, by now Sherlock had lost all patience of hiding away his emotions, therefore somewhat exploding in wild physical gestures. He had the sudden inexplicable need for...Well, Adriana. It was hardly something he'd ever have the capability to comprehend, and decided not to question so for the time being. Everything would make sense eventually, he figured.

Each sensation that Sherlock caused was pure electricity and fire coursing through her veins; his hands moving up and down her skin, irritatingly blocked by her tight shirt, his tongue exploring her mouth, the way she could feel his hips against her. If she was able to speak at this point, she'd probably be calling out religious names of sorts, mixed with Sherlock's name. Which was odd, since she had never really been particularly religious; though, she supposed, that if things as absolutely superlative as Sherlock could exist, then there had to be some sort of God. She let her tongue fight with his for a moment, before merely letting him win and retreating slightly. It was odd to be in a position like this, she had to admit; normally she would be the one pushing the other against the wall, though normally she had seven concealed weapons and an ulterior motive. Nothing about this was normal and _damn_, it felt good.

Things has escalated so quickly, a pace in which Sherlock himself had failed to keep up with; and, as much as he'd like to deny it, it was a pace he so easily gave in to. He created the smallest of spaces between their lips, parting from the kiss for a moment as his weary eyes flickered up to Adriana's gaze. His mind was in one big haze, and although he was taking a moment to allow thoughts to click back into place- nothing happened. And so, Sherlock continued with Adriana, gladly hearing no irritant voice within his head to prevent him from doing so; though instead of returning to the delicate mouth of hers, his lips traced gently over her neck, causing him to tilt his head to a slight angle as he held her rather firmly. Some sort of logic or self-control must've been lingering at the back of his head somewhere, as he was still resisting the urge to blurt out something ridiculous sounding like 'I love you' between him kissing her.

Though Adriana was about to let out a small noise- since she doubted she could manage a full sentence at this point- about him pausing in kissing her, she soon let out an absolutely obscene noise as she felt his lips on her neck. Her heart pounded impossibly fast as he graced her skin with his curved, perfect lips. It was slightly dismaying that the most she could do was keen into his motions, arching her neck to give him more access. She had to think of how vulnerable she was at a time like this. If he so pleased, he could easily harm her; and she'd probably bloody let him, as completely torn to pieces as her mind was. She let her hands drop from his hair, flattening against the wall a bit more. It was so different to feel gentility on her skin instead of something like a knife, or the sting of a whip, burning metal, and what have you. God, though, if it didn't feel absolutely amazing... Her heart rate seemed far out of control, and her mind was utterly untraceable. Just for fun, she tried to recollect the first few numbers of pi. 3.141... something. 6? Oh, Christ, who could focus on numbers at such a damnably perfect time? She let her hands rest loosely on his waist, eyes fluttering shut, head spinning still.

Occasionally, the same questions would appear in Sherlock's mind repeatedly, yet they'd be so easily brushed aside or simply abolished into oblivion;_ 'How did you let it come to this?' 'Are you just about done?' 'What will Mycroft say when he deduces it?'_ Yet all Sherlock did was chuckle internally, and maybe a little aloud as he kissed her. His hands ran lower down her figure, his touch tracing gently over her clothing. The adrenaline in his veins gradually built up until a spark of desire merged from within. His emotions were all utterly assorted; from pure euphoria to shame, and anxiousness towards regret. But how would he regret doing so? He seemed currently unable to conjure an answer, which he supposed was undoubtedly good, and so continued to leave faint vermillion coloured marks against the side of her neck. If this moment would last forever, Sherlock wouldn't at all object; easily dismissing anybody who mattered, anybody such as Moriarty, or John. The only person he _could _and _would _think of right now, was simply Adriana.

As much as Adriana was enjoying the sensation of Sherlock's lips and hands on her, she decided that she really couldn't stand being pinned up against the wall any long. Being the one to be teased wasn't really her 'thing', though she couldn't say she hadn't liked it at the time. Using the back of her foot, she pushed away from the wall slightly, breaking his hold on her, before wrapping an arm securely around Sherlock's abdomen and turning, loosening her arm from around him right as she pressed his back up against the wall. She wondered if she had been a bit too rough, though he hardly seemed deterred, and she eagerly began her own ministrations; her hands moved up and down his shirt, unbuttoning it and pulling it out from the waistband of his trousers, so his pale skin was splayed out in front of her. Lips quirking upward cleverly, the former freelance assassin ducked down and started to imitate his past actions on her neck. She kissed up and down his neck, adding suction to some areas and leaving faint red marks. She half-wished she had lipstick on, since he'd look adorable with his hair messed up, shirt half buttoned and lip marks up and down his neck and chin. Mental note for the next time they did this- wear lipstick. _Next time_, she thought giddily- there'd be a next time! The thought invigorated her further, and she moved to his collarbone, nipping the skin lightly before kissing and savoring the mark. What did they call them? Ah, right, love bites. She almost giggled at the absurdity of the term, though it seemed rather appropriate, now that she thought about it.

It was rather amusing, and yet another reason why Sherlock admired Adriana so much; the way she could so easily claim back power if she wanted it. Though, Sherlock would never be left hopelessly powerless. Pfft, no. He wouldn't let that happen. But he felt so, only momentarily, as his back collided with the wall. Eyes darting down to Adriana's hands as she helped herself to his dress shirt, the mock frown which had formed upon his lips soon digressed into a smirk. As her lips met his skin, Sherlock almost uncharacteristically gasped to how it had felt; somewhat like ice, soon to melt slowly when coming to contact with his skin? Though, it was also like electricity, sending a shock wave of pleasure through his veins, quite abruptly at that. There was an aching of desire welling in his chest, and Sherlock allowed Adriana to continue with her games for only a little while before taking his index finger under her chin and turning her head to face him, capturing her lips again in another kiss. God, what am I doing? _You're taking what you want_. Isn't that stealing? It's not like I deserve her. There was a silence in his head, and Sherlock supposed the voice was taking a moment or two to manage some form of imperceptible smirk, laced discreetly with surreptitiousness, since it wasn't bloody answering. _This is ridiculous. Regular mental conversations with yourself?_ I talk to myself aloud, it's not odd. A free hand ran over the back of her torso in order to hold her - petite, in comparison to Sherlock's- body closer to himself as they kissed.

There was no way to describe how Adriana felt around Sherlock. If she were to attempt, however... perhaps a lightning rod connecting with lightning. Fire, electricity, all of it coming into a singular, beautiful beam of energy and light. No, that was too... brief, too sudden, and spontaneous. If anything to do with lightning, this was a storm; wind, rain, thunder, lightning, wild and uncontrollable and absolutely surging with power. Perhaps. Maybe a tornado, or a hurricane- _why do I keep thinking of natural bloody disasters?- _or, maybe a heart. Full of passion and yearning- symbolically, at least- connected and pumping and moving in time with everything else. God, though nothing seemed to fit it quite right. It was thrilling, satisfying, and formative, it was... everything. She loved the way he tilted her chin up, taking her lips and filling her with heat and wanton need. She loved the small, lovely, and rare noises she could get him to make. God, she loved everything about him. Keeping their lips together for several long, lingering moments, she eventually broke away slightly, looking up at him with wide, nearly innocent-looking- though they were anything but- eyes, her lips pursing pensively. "Ah..." She let out a breath, her cheeks flushed with delicate red. "If... If this..." She found herself lost forwards for a moment, her head filled with the image of him taking her- not an unappealing image, though a very distracting one- and she took a moment to compose herself. "If this is going somewhere, shouldn't we go to your bedroom?" She murmured, once she managed to form a complete sentence. Though she didn't know if he legs would work, considering she had been leaning up against him the majority of their voracious kissing.

From trying to describe the sensation brought when their lips had met, from the closeness of their body proximity, Sherlock soon took on a different path of trying to deduce Adriana as an individual; everything amazing about her, from the marvelous vibrancy of her hair, to the marvelous vibrancy of her personality. Though, admittedly, he was lost in thought of her for a while to realise that they had stopped kissing. To realise her question. "Y-yes..." He mumbled, clearing his throat shortly afterwards and trying to re-gain the serenity of his breathing and erratic thoughts. "Yes," He repeated, cracking a smile and taking her hand; "I believe we should." And with that, he led her carefully from John's room, and down the staircase leading to the apartment. Then he began to silently wonder if Mrs. Hudson would be a problem- in which she always seemed to be, presenting people with her presence when they _least _needed it-so as they entered the living area, Sherlock made sure to click the lock on before abandoning the door completely. And then he led Adriana to his bedroom. The logical part of Sherlock's brain was most probably as stupefied as anybody else's to encounter such news; that this was actually happening. Him and Adriana. Him and the beautiful woman who's hand he held, rather tightly at the thought. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe it was a conclusion to his character, like a missing piece he had to find for a jigsaw puzzle. Why do I compare everything to that? Be a little more creative, hmm? Though, it was undoubtedly hard to concentrate on a more interesting metaphor with Adriana in his company. Sometimes he could think of perfectly structured and intricate ones, whereas other times- most times- his mind was just fogged.

Giddiness wasn't something that Adriana often felt, though at a time like this, she really couldn't help it. Her heart was pounding heavily, and her mind was far, far away on some distant cloud. The whole atmosphere of the flat, while normally seeming cluttered and a bit dusty, now seemed to consist of particular vantage points that Adriana noted she could lean up against, or push Sherlock against, in order to better make out with him. She giggled a bit when he locked the door, feeling her chest trilling with excitement. Once they finally made it to Sherlock's room- which took an eternity, in her opinion- Adriana snagged the doorknob with a hooked finger and closed the door behind her as they entered. The curtains were drawn, so the room was somewhat dark, causing the young woman to stumble slightly onto the bed, dragging the dark-haired detective on top of her. From what she could tell, she was mostly facing the right way, since she could barely feel the pillows under the very top of her head, and she managed to flick on the light by the side of the bed, after a bit of scrabbling around with the switch. It was rather arousing to see Sherlock over her, and she grinned for a moment before leaning up to peck a kiss to his lips. Bloody perfect man... Christ, she was lucky. Rather luckily, her laces had come undone throughout the day, and she managed to kick off one shoe before using her freed toes to pull the other off; wanting to feel a bit more possessive of the stunning man above her, she wrapped her leg loosely around his waist, head falling back on the sheets. "Go on, you bloody perfect man, and take me." She murmured, her hair splayed out on the sheets, one arm hanging over the side of the bed and the other going to run through his hair, leg wrapped around him, and chest rising and falling at a faster pace than normal, encouraged by their current situation.

With hardly any hesitation, Sherlock crawled onto the bed until he was directly over the woman he so desperately wanted; tracing his fingers gently over her thigh before holding her leg firmly against his waist, and leaning forwards to press small kisses to her jawline and neck. Taking a free hand, he tugged down the straps from her top and bra, revealing the bare skin of her shoulder. Everything about her was magnificent. Her faultless, immaculate skin was enough to make his brain shut down-though the passionate kiss shared earlier gladly did that job-and without wasting another moment, he began to attack her shoulder with gentle kisses. Though, he couldn't help but notice those emerald eyes of hers were perfectly illuminated by the faint light of the lamp beside them both; a source of light so weak and small as itself, somewhat emphasizing and highlighting her remarkable features. "You think I'm perfect?" He mumbled, teasingly with a smirk pushing against her skin. It was rather flattering, a woman such as herself thinking so, though every woman who had fallen for him seemed to think the same thing- There was Molly, of course, who believed she was in love with the man, expressing her affection and interest through silently helping him around the lab. Though it was quite a courageous gesture for her when thinking about her low level of conviction. And then there was The Woman. She didn't have to say anything- just the way she looked to him was enough. Sherlock paused for a moment, pulling away slightly so he could look Adriana in the eye._ I shouldn't be thinking of her. Not now_. Helplessly, he began to silently compare Irene and Adriana from one another, picking out every single similarity and differences. Were they similar, though? In any way? He certainly hoped not... or... No, they weren't. He just hoped he wasn't being ignorant. He was almost certain that they were utterly different individuals. Miss Adler was cunning, and somewhat heartless. Though, completely enticing in every possible use of the word. He'd be lying if he said he didn't think Adriana was just as alluring. It could be a different type of alluring, though, right? As she wasn't so open with sex, unlike Adler. With a short roll of his eyes towards his thoughts, attempting to rid of the other woman lingering at the back of his head, Sherlock leaned closer and captured Adriana's lips again in a warm embrace.

What was this, their... sixth kiss? If you didn't count all of those kisses to one another's necks and such, then... God, numbers seemed so pointless and useless right now. There was her; there was Sherlock; there were their lips pressing together in the gentlest, most familiar way possible; there was skin against skin, skin against cloth, cloth against cloth, though all of it seemed to be tangled up in the entwined, friction-creating bodies that belonged to the both of them. Using the hand that was formerly over the side of the bed, Adriana started working at his shirt again, pulling the buttons out one by one, slow and methodical. Once she had gotten the last one off, she used both her hands to nearly rip it off of him, having to divert where his arms were temporarily in order to throw the garment to the side with reckless abandon. She smoothed her hands down his back, letting her fingertips brush over his shoulder blades and dipping into the small of his back, gentle and yet probing, needing to map out his form in her mind. "Course you're bloody perfect." She murmured against his lips, before breaking their newest kiss. Sex so far was... different, with Sherlock, to say the least. Her past experiences had been either hurried, or unsatisfying, or desperate, or in exchange for something... though she didn't too much want to get into that. This, though; all the gentility, kissing, taking time, doing it... right, it felt. This was so damn perfect and she still had all her clothes on- something she wanted to remedy soon. She moved out from under his lips for a moment, carding a hand through his hair once, before pulling her top off and tossing it to the side on top of his shirt. Deciding that any sort of modesty was really a thing of the part at the moment, she unclasped the back of her bra and shrugged it off, adding that to the pile, revealing her soft, somewhat large breasts. For once feeling the slightest bit self-conscious, she ran a hand through her hair, glancing towards Sherlock and wondering if he approved. "Like what you see?" She teased.

After easily helping with the removal of his shirt, Sherlock took the while Adriana was to partially undress herself to look over her in awe. She was undoubtedly the most amazing woman he had ever had the good fortune to meet, he thought with a small smile forming upon his lips. Then, his eyes ran indiscreetly over her body as she exposed every detail upon her chest, leaving Sherlock's awe to dramatically grow evident. "Very much so." He whispered, dragging his eyes back over to meet her gaze, and leaving it there until arching his back slightly to press small kisses over her breasts. The comparison was somewhat like that of a lion, his shoulder blades emphasized and sort of like a large cat as he moved gently to position himself in a comfortable place in order to kiss her softly. His lips trailed over to the lower part of her breasts, over to her collarbones and then gradually returning to her lips as he allowed his hands to gracefully explore her body. Every so often, he'd push the bare skin of their chests together, embracing her immensely in a sudden deepened kiss. It was as if everything he had demanded to himself that morning, about how to forget Adriana and make her leave went completely unnoticed. Seemingly inexistent, even. Though, he want for her was stronger than any lie he could conjure to rid of her. The animated and rapturous sensations which followed from them just being together was inexplicably great and over-whelming. It wasn't something he could just abolish.

The slow, steady gaze of the detective than ran over every inch of her body was absolutely intoxicating, and Adriana shivered and blushed constantly, before leaning into his lips- those damn clever lips of his, she thought, breathless at the way they brushed against her skin. She doubted that she would really be able to say much to Sherlock at this point; The occasional sensation of their bare skin pressing against each other was pure ecstasy, the warm, flat planes of his muscles luxuriously lain against her soft, creamy skin feeling similar to their many embraces, though somewhat more exciting and intimate, and there was no way of speaking during that utterly hot moment of contact. If she wanted to be able to say something, she would probably flip them over so she was on top at some point, though at the moment, she was relishing Sherlock's kisses and closeness too much to move or do anything to disrupt the perfect, gentile silence that had fallen over them. The leg she had wrapped around him came free, so she could move her hands to start working at his trousers. It was surprising how easily she had grown to detest clothing, honestly, and once she managed to tug his trousers down past his feet, with the help of her legs and feet- at which point she could feel his erection against her jeans, which really just made her let out a small moan, which was muffled by their pressed together lips- she started to unbutton the irritatingly obstructing denim between her legs and Sherlock's.

Breathing far from steady and cursed utterly with the excitement to follow from Adriana, Sherlock adjusted himself so he could simply kick the trousers from his ankles. His lips moved again over her body, tracing gently over her scar-which couldn't, at this moment, bring him other emotions such as anger or hate, as he was too over-whelmed with love at this point to care- as Sherlock moved farther down the bed, hands running smoothly down her figure until he slipped of her shorts, and then her leggings. He brushed the clothing from the end of his bed to the floor with a foot, before moving up to allow his lips to rest just next to Adriana's ear; "You're truly amazing..." Whispered the detective before kissing gently to the side of her neck, surprisingly unbothered by the possible stupidity which could've been the outcome of voicing his thoughts. Though, he found himself to feel utterly comfortable in her presence, and, in a way thankful. Actually, he was in _every _way thankful for her, for this. Fingers tracing over the lining of the last article of clothing to remain upon her, lips roaming endlessly over her body, chests having no space between them, Sherlock had thought it to be then, that he understood love. _Oh, don't be ridiculous. What if all your silent accusations were correct? _They're not. And Sherlock was convinced so; his trust for Adriana was immense, alongside his caring for her, the intimacy of it all... She made him think ways he would never dream of thinking; do things he's never expect he could. Overall, she _was _truly amazing.

Although at this point they had done a large amount of kissing, embracing, and generally being incredibly intimate, Adriana still found herself shivering at the pressing of his lips on her neck, leaning into every touch with an unspoken plea, toes curling each time he graced her skin with his long, pale fingertips. And his deep, rich baritone in her ear, little more than a whisper, made her heart race all the more. She was amazing, though? How was she amazing? She'd never really thought of herself in such a positive light, and even when others tried to convince her of it, she dismissed it as flattery. But hearing it from Sherlock was so much different; she really did think that he was right, that she was amazing. If she could get a man like him to give her such a compliment, then she had to be somewhat amazing. She blushed and leaned her head to the side slightly, exposing the red marks he had left before further. "You're brilliant." She murmured in response, before repeating her earlier actions and flipping the both of them over, causing her to straddle his hips. She splayed her hands on his chest, feeling his heart beat beneath her palms, and took a moment to take in his gorgeous appearance. And he was... was 'hers' to possessive sounding? No, since she was his as well. She leaned down, rearranging herself so her hands were on either side of him, keeping her up half a foot or so off of him, and her legs were strewn across his hips. Mouth out hesitation, she let her lips meet his, though this was, ironically, one of their more chaste kisses.

Falling somewhat roughly onto his back, Sherlock's dazed eyes looked up to Adriana with soon-evident admiration. The way her hair fell over sides of her face, her natural beauty exposed for him to see, the petite softness of her hands against his chest; it was all greatly sublime. The rate of his heart elevated greatly, pumping the adrenaline through his veins at a rather vast pace, and Sherlock's fingers were soon to trace over the skin of her thighs again as they kissed; the gesture laced with devotion, affection and overall affinity. His hands moved to the lower part of her back leisurely as he continues to kiss, and he bit Adriana's bottom lip rather playfully. This was all so absurd. There was really no other word to describe the situation, or so he thought. Maybe if he thought long and hard enough, he'd come to the conclusion that there was, in fact, a word. A definition, a description of sorts. But his brain was clearly switched off at this point, only controlling his subliminal actions. "You're disobedient." Replied Sherlock in a silky undertone voice, barely whispering against her lips as a small and merely imperceptible smirk formed. Realizing his heart was beating rapidly against his chest, Sherlock inhaled shortly before deepening the kiss with Adriana; his want evidently growing alongside his desire, which he'd usually see as a weakness and an act of stupidity. Though now, all he could see it as was simply a great euphoria.

Repressing an incredibly schoolgirl-ish sort of giggle at being described as 'disobedient', Adriana sank into the kiss, relishing the little nip at her skin that he had offered. His voice was somehow able to sound strong and firm, yet silky and sultry at the same time. She couldn't say that she didn't like being described as disobedient. More than didn't dislike it, actually. While it would normally be more of a chastisement, it seemed more... well, 'incredibly sexy' was the right phrase to use at a time like this. She dared to move one of her hands to adoringly card through his hair while they kissed, causing her arms to falter slightly and their abdomens to press together. It was nice to have some friction between their chests. Understatement of the year; it felt like heaven to have her skin against his, hot and smooth and absolutely perfect. Everything about this seemed perfect; there was no rush, no restraint, and no hesitation. It was a steady ebb and flow of passion from the both of them. Once she pulled away from the kiss slightly, just to catch her breath, she pushed a few strands of curls away from her eyes. "You're bad at making me behave, then." She allowed herself to giggle, just a bit, before capturing his lips again with a slightly more insistent kiss; somewhat needier, more imploring. After a moment of playing with his tongue and letting her hands wander to every area they could reach, she pulled away from the kiss only slightly, keeping their lips just barely away from one another. From here, Adriana could easily see his gorgeous eyes, and their rather dilated pupils. "Though you're also incredibly sexy, so that makes up for it." She teased.

Having only ever been called 'sexy' once in his life-and that was by The Woman he refused to allow his thoughts to turn to-so the compliment came as quite a shock. Sherlock smirked, rather appreciating her voice at a time like this; it was so enticing so... _addictive_. Though everything about this woman he found to be addictive, quite obviously, as he struggled entirely to keep himself from her. "Were you _challenging _me?" He enquired softly, with a hint of malevolence in his voice as he positioned his lips to brush gently over the perfect, silk skin of her collarbone. His hands, resting comfortably over the curves of her immensely beautiful-shaped form, ran gently to the lower part of her thigh, and repeated the process as they travelled upwards. He pulled away his lips from her skin, and rested his head back onto the bed beneath him, looking up into Adriana's glistening emerald coloured eyes. She was his definition of perfect. Though, he never knew such a thing existed until now. "Because I'd happily accept it." He added finally, with a larger smirk cornering to his lips. Without waiting for an answer, he traced his fingers along the length of her arms gently before gripping her wrists and moving so she was again laying upon her back. Keeping her hands above her head, Sherlock held his smirk as he looked down to her with pure mischief in his gaze. It was only then he realized what he was doing. How utterly preposterous his actions were. How ridiculous it was to be triggered by such a thing of desperation, devotion and desire. Though all was easily welcomed as he pushed his lips softly against Adriana's, soon realizing yet another feature he adored so much about her. Her lips; they were marvelously structured, they felt sweet and somewhat small against his own. And he simply couldn't get enough of them.

Since Sherlock's response and actions had been easily anticipated, Adriana probably could easily have stayed on top of him. Well, maybe; the motion on her thighs was really rather distracting and so was /he/, just in general. She wondered for a split second if she really could have managed to avoid their positions being flipped once more, considering she would probably allow him to do anything to her, and that every bit of her guard was down at this point. There was, of course, only one way to find out, and Sherlock had accepted her somewhat unspoken challenge. She grinned internally, finding her little power struggle with Sherlock to be more than a little bit enjoyable. Once their- twentieth? - kiss was broken, she smirked up at him. "You'll really have to try harder than that." She murmured coyly, wrapping her legs around his midsection and twisting her hands out of his grip before reversing their positions once more, though this time she had positioned herself on his chest, and her hands were tightly wrapped around his wrists. Allowing herself a brief smirk before bending down to kiss Sherlock deeply and passionately again, Adriana found herself feeling immensely joyful. It was definite that she hadn't been this happy in over a decade. "Anytime you want to just surrender, tell me." She said against his lips, before pulling back slightly to start kissing his neck, wondering if she could distract him to the extent that he wouldn't be able to get back on top. She hoped not; this was really all just far, far too much fun. And she'd probably let him win anyways, she thought to herself with a small smirk, nipping at his skin a bit before moving up to claim his lips again.

When frowning a little in mock indignation, Sherlock held onto Adriana's lips for as long as he possibly could before she returned them to his body, and began to whisper more encouraging things to him, to prevent him from losing. He was almost certain he knew exactly what she was trying to do; setting his mind on another path of how painfully alluring the sensation she brought him was; from her lips sliding delicately across from his lips to his neck, like some form of entrancing snake he'd happily be bitten by, no matter how lethal the poison, to her fingers wrapping firmly around the skin of his wrists and holding him there somewhat against his will, and-God Damn, it was working. "Sorry, love." He whispered, gaining back his composure and successful way of thinking, turning his head so he could whisper into her ear softly. "But I don't intend on doing so." With that, he attacked her lips rather abruptly with his own, taking her in the most passionate kiss he possibly could and undoubtedly ever would. Slipping his hands from her grip, he returned them to her thighs before acquiring his position above her; not once separating their lips.

For a moment, Adriana wondered if his kissing her had actually managed to turn the world upside down, since that was certainly what it felt like, though she realized a moment later that Sherlock had managed to get back on top of her. She pouted for a moment underneath his lips, starting to struggle playfully beneath him. She adored the way he called her 'love'- it was such a wonderful, mind-wrecking sort of phrase, and it was impossible to hear it and feel absolutely in love with this exquisite man. She managed to pull her lips away from him for a moment, merely to breathe out, "Clever demon." The phrase seemed to describe him rather perfectly, other than not including how hot he was. She smirked and let their lips connect again, rolling her hips underneath him, letting them grind against his in a teasing, smug sort of way. While she didn't give up _that _easily, she really wanted to; though she did have that little bit of instinct in her to at least properly challenge him. Or at least tease him. You don't have a tendency to play fair." She noted after their lips separated again. Still pouting, she caught the hem of his pants between two of her toes, her far too flexible leg having moved up his thigh. Looking somewhat more derisive, she started to tug his pants down with her foot, figuring if he was going to win this easily, she might as well get to disrobe him.

It was hardly possible to resist the small chuckle leaving his lips, pressing against her own to the small phrase she whispered out. Clever? Yes. Demon? ...Yes, he supposed. Metaphorically speaking, he could be. One of his hands rested upon her ankle to his side, fingers slowly wrapping around the end of her leg as he held it for a moment; half-preventing Adriana from continuing. "Me?" he whispered softly against her skin, as his lips moved slowly down her chest; "_I _don't?" He simply released her ankle to allow her to finish her job, letting his hands capture either side of her breasts as his lips trailed along the skin of them, almost as if they were meant to. Sherlock gently kicked off the remainder of his clothing; confidence faulting only in the slightest way, though he tried to keep a control of it by teasing the woman beneath him endlessly. Tilting his head upwards to lock gazes with her, Sherlock's crystal eyes glistening, he parted his lips to whisper a few more captivatingly ravishing words; "With all due respect, ma'am..." He began, pressing a few kisses over the space of her chest again before continuing; "Nor do you." He flashed her a rather dashing smirk before crawling up her figure to, again, kiss gently over her mouth.

With each small kiss, or gesture of his hands, or word from his perfect, curved lips, Adriana found herself falling even further in love with him. _You don't deserve him_, a voice sang in the back of her head, taunting and filled with all the smugness that it formerly had had- its own way of happily saying, 'Miss me?' She leaned into his lips, trying to shut it out desperately. _You're skeletal, and hardly endowed, so what is there appealing about you? You look and dress like a bloody teenager. _Shut up, she thought firmly, tangling her fingers in his hair and deepening the kiss, trying to return to the former bliss and mental silence. _And you're so... messed up, too. Kleptomaniac, pyromaniac, obsessed with weaponry so you can feel you have a scrap of power in your helpless, defenseless existence; possibly schizophrenic, mentally incapable of dealing with large amounts of people... Adriana, you're bloody pathetic. Numbers are the only thing you're good at. _God dammit, will you shut up, she thought, desperately sinking the kiss. _We both know you're only so insistent to be with someone new, and have some commitment and stability because of what Moriarty- _She ground her hips up into Sherlock's, blissfully silencing the voice in her head. She pulled away from him, starting to tug down her own remaining undergarment. "Rubbish accusation; if I didn't play fair, I'd be on top, wouldn't I?" She hummed, managing to pull off her pants and toss them to the side. "Take me, would you?" She asked, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing a light kiss to his lips.

Part of what Adriana said had to be the truth, since she was utterly...persistent. Assuring that she gets whatever it is she wants. The determination being yet another thing to so helplessly admire. His hands fell to either side of the mattress beside her, as his eyes roamed endlessly over her body in the momentary silence. God, this was actually happening. _This_ was actually happening. He was about to ask something gentleman-like, such as 'Are you sure?' Though he was quite positive himself, that both of their answers would be relatively equal. In a hardly hesitant manner, Sherlock gladly rolled his hips gently against hers, creating an inexplicable friction to send a shiver up the length of his spine. And for that moment, everything was forgotten. His two year death, the period of which these two people had actually known each other, his only friend most probably dying in a hospital somewhere and that awful man who had the capability to kill them both. Mentally, physically and then literally. All in that order. The horrendous methods he'd use abolished and no longer in thought, alongside all anxiousness and uncertainty. It was all replaced with a warmth and seemingly ever-lasting love. _There's that word again. How many bloody times have you used it? Bloody ridiculous man. _Not even the voice mattered at this point, or bothered him in the slightest way, even though it still lingered. It was as though everything bad was briefly put on mute. And it was just Sherlock and Adriana in that bed. In that room. In the building, on the street- in the world! Nothing would interrupt them. Nothing possibly could. Sherlock kissed Adriana softly, expressing his affection for her in just one gesture, finally finding it rather easily done; no longer having trouble with his emotions. He felt he understood everything now. It all seemed to make a mass amount of sense. Like his life before Adriana was spent living in the shadows. And, ironically, due to the darkness of the room, Sherlock saw everything to be as transparent as water.

All of their teasing and playing aside, this was taken on in a much more serious fashion; love, passion, desire, adoration, need, want... it all came together so easily, and Adriana doubted that the irritating voice could interrupt them if it tried. Sex had never seemed so... special? Significant? Unifying? Sex had just been a way of getting something; seduction just another tool in her duffel bag of Kalashnikovs and rocket launchers; love a myth and a legend, a taboo one at that. Ah, but this wasn't really sex, was it? It was making love; there had always been that cliché of there was a large difference between the two, which Adriana had never quite understood. Now she did- sex was casual, nonchalant, even; it meant nothing. Making love was the physical way of expressing one's utter devotion and adoration. Oh, God, she really had it bad, didn't she? She was thinking like a love song; one of the damn ones that is played nonstop on radio and is stuck in your head for half a year. She was acting like a lovesick idiot; hell, she felt like a lovesick idiot. Though when their lips met, there was an undeniable spark, and when she heard his voice, she shivered; when she felt his hands on her, her heart both stopped and sped up. She loved him- she loved him and she felt it in every single nerve of her body. She closed her emerald eyes for a moment, relishing this kiss, wanting to hold onto t for the next millennium; needing to remember it for the rest of her life, when the world stopped and there was just her, and him, and their lips and their limbs and bodies pressed so close that she wasn't quite sure where her skin stopped and his began; Christ, that sounded bad, even to lovesick her. Though there was the faint sensation of them just being... singular. Utterly together. She opened her emerald eyes, which shone faintly in the vague light of the lamp, and broke the kiss, taking a deep breath. "I love you." She said softly, finding that the words no longer caught in her throat, and she didn't really seem to have any difficulty with saying it- she loved him and she knew it, and had finally come to accept it. She'd do anything for this man; she might even die for him. Though he wouldn't stand for that, she thought with an internal smirk, brushing and strand of hair away from his flushed face. "Promise you'll stay with me tonight." She murmured, pressing a kiss to his cheekbone and smoothing her hands down his chest. "Promise you won't fall out of love with me." She sounded like an idiot, though she didn't care at the moment. "Promise you'll take me and keep me.

This was by far the most unorthodox thing Sherlock had ever had the audacity to partake in, knowing how marvelous or how utterly horrendous the consequences would be; _love_. Though there was no need for negative words such as horrendous. There was no need to think of the consequences, because he had Adriana now and anything else hardly mattered in the slightest way. As she broke their kiss, his eyes wearily flickered open until he locked gazes with her, automatically admiring her beauty, yet again. It was then he realized he was doing so without noticing; how he had earlier went from deducing to adoration in a split second. That's why deducing her character hardly worked! His ice-like eyes looked down to her and brightened slightly to the thought, his pupils dilated wonderfully to her touch, and his heart had almost penetrated his chest due to the speed it was racing. He was madly in love with her, it was blatantly obvious. "I'd be a fool to do otherwise." He whispered softly, leaning in to kiss gently at the sides of her neck, hips gradually moving closer again. "I promise." He muttered against her skin. "I promise." He repeated, after kissing her again. A hand ran through her hair gently as he whispered the last promise, just to clarify. How could he possibly be expected to take her and throw her away soon after? No, she was something he was to treasure. Some form of rich gold he would risk his life for. And Moriarty could play the role of the damn greedy pirate. It took a slow while to realise that if Adriana was as deeply in love with himself as he thought, she'd most likely put her life at risk, also. Hell, he couldn't stand that. Not one bit. And the only way he could have kept her safe was shutting her out, making her hate him passionately. But it was all too late now, she was officially at risk. And, oh Jim would find out and- _Well done, you bloody 'intelligent' man_! Positioning his lips to trace gently over hers, Sherlock breathed out a short "I love you." in response to her own, before kissing her more affectionately this time.

Although she didn't want to admit it, love was having a slightly detrimental effect on her mind. She could no longer think in numbers for one thing; for another, she was hopelessly vulnerable and she could not possibly care less- she couldn't think of any weak spots on Sherlock's body, or find any escape routes in the room in case of danger. Of course, she doubted that it was permanent, and mostly just due to the closeness of the both of them, so she didn't worry too much; as if she could worry whatsoever with Sherlock's lips pressed so perfectly to hers. "Thank you." She murmured against his skin, moving her lips to his ear, pressing their cheeks together. "I want you. So badly, I can barely even think straight." She wrapped her arms loosely around him, her fingers tracing mindless patterns in his skin. "Would it be too much to ask for you to stay here and ravish me all night?" Her tone of voice had changed, obviously, from how she normally spoke. The sort of sultry pleading was a side to her way of speaking that had so far gone entirely unearthed, though she certainly did not mind it. And, she hoped, Sherlock didn't mind it either. The patterns she traced delicately on his alabaster muscles seemed to slightly resemble music notes, despite the fact that she didn't play; they were more whimsical and wishful than concrete. But perhaps, she mused, Sherlock could play them; God, the way that he managed to coax emotion and impossibly beautiful song out of his violin only seemed to mimic the way he coerced her voice to take up begging, and managed to make her moan softly with a movement of his slender, deftly skilled fingers. Clever demon, she couldn't help but think again; though a clever, beautiful demon that she'd gladly let pull her to damnation.

_Well of course I intend to enrapture you all night, love_, thought Sherlock silently as he ran his fingers slowly through her hair, cherishing her touch as her fingers delicately traced along his skin. Adriana made him completely spellbound by her touch, her voice, her kiss; virtually everything about her soothed his mind kindly. "I won't leave you." He whispered softly, turning his lips softly to her neck again; nurturing her in any way possible. God, her love changed him completely. "Not again." Assured Sherlock, pulling away slightly to sustain a form of intimate eye-contact with her._ Fascinating, in every way possible_. "You have me, Adriana." He added, as though it were sincerely patent. Ever since they met, it seemed as though they had gradually changed each other. Their ways of thinking rationally, opinions on certain things, perhaps. Sherlock was positive his opinion on love had changed; though when thinking about it, it was something he hadn't ever experienced, so never had a valid opinion on. Until now, of course. From going to 'A poisoned, time-consuming weakness which heightens levels of gullibility ' dramatically digressing to 'A pure and inexplicable warmth, which could melt even the coldest of hearts'. Love really brought out the poet in himself, he mused with a small grin. Leaning down to kiss her softly, Sherlock let out a small sigh of content when realizing the horrible aching his head, due to everything he struggled to comprehend, had slowly drifted away. And now all that was left was a sort of... tingling. Everywhere on his body. An entrancement; and he'd cherish every moment of it.

Despite the amount of kissing they had done, Adriana found there to be no monotony in any of it; each new kiss held something with it that she'd never experienced before; some fresh passion or renewed affinity for one another that sent shudders down all of Adriana's body. When their lips met again, this time, however, there was a more overwhelming sort of power and immediate rush of heat, and the young woman found herself quite glad she didn't have to stand at the moment. She fumbled for a moment with the light switch, and once they were both drenched in complete darkness- yet had no issues finding one another's bodies, as they had spent a great amount of time cartographing skin, legs, lips, arms, legs, and fingers- they both sank into the deep, fiery passion of love. Adriana's mind was mostly blank throughout the experience, other than the occasional thought to move a certain way; her actions were mostly instinct, and most of what she managed to say was either moaning Sherlock's name, or begging him, or merely gasping or adding some audibility to her shivering with pleasure. And as the both of them, writhing against one another's skin in something reminiscent of a desire fueled dance, Adriana found that voice finally silenced; no longer ignored, nor in the background, but not present whatsoever and utterly gone from her mind. Perhaps that was good and perhaps that voice had been some channel of her common sense and it might not be very wonderful for it to be gone, but either way she was quite content to sink further into her and Sherlock's throes of passion. The sun outside the drawn curtains steadily set, though the passage of time seemed nonexistent to the two of them, and their utterly wanton acts of love.

Their darkened figures moving between the sheets, the world turning slowly and time going unnoticed, the two of them were completely soaking themselves into a seemingly endless frenzy of love, lust and passion. Sherlock found himself kissing the woman beneath him until he could hardly breathe himself, caught up in one over-whelming sensation; both completely entwined with each-other, almost moving in sync. Every so often he'd whisper something soothing into Adriana's ear, something new and utterly laced with affection, adoration and desire. The room was filled with the silence it always was, of that belonging to a dead building; lonely and frail. Though both Adriana and Sherlock, together in their company, was an experience that screamed love, concupiscence and patent fondness for one another. Each action, word, whisper, all combined into a loud and passionate moment that, at the time, seemed immortal. But, as everything deemed not to be so ever-lasting, for the last few minutes of the night Sherlock took a place next to Adriana and simply held her in silence; fingers running softly through her hair and trailing down the skin of her arm until she drifted slowly into a slumber, with another arm around her petite shoulders protectively. And the detective happily watched her, until becoming weary himself. The atmosphere of the room, then, seemingly changed into something meaningful. An immensely wonderful memory was created within the forgotten time, something Sherlock would undoubtedly smile towards when awaking. A small speck of the moonlight shone through the tiniest of cracks in the drawn curtains, illuminating the figures upon the bed generously as they both lay together, happily exhausted.


	12. Chapter 12

**RATED M FOR MORIARTY. **

* * *

Though the remainder of the time spent together wasn't as Sherlock had hoped, as for the first time since he was a child, he had one of the worst nightmares one's brain could possibly conjure- _so soon, too... Damn_. It was of Moriarty and Adriana; bringing his troubled anxiousness' to a vivid scene imbedded into his brain. She was murdered before him, and there was hardly a thing Sherlock found himself being able to do. He wasn't tied up, to be prevented from saving her... No, not at all. He just couldn't find himself to move. He was stuck, in some form of invisible glue. And when seeing blood drip from her wounds, and finally seeing her body fall to the floor, Sherlock had screamed and cursed and cried, until he awoke, sitting up suddenly in the bed and squinting over to the sunlight barely shining onto his face.

The previous night's rather lengthy and exhausting activities having managed to bring Adriana past the point of being utterly and completely spent, the petite woman slept incredibly well, without a single disturbing image gracing her love addled mind. It would be impossible, really, for anything to break through the euphoria that had fallen over her entirety. And even in sleep, she could very faintly feel the sensation of Sherlock's arms wrapped around her, and the blankets twisted inexplicably beneath them, caused by their wild and passionate copulating. The sheets, tautly wound around them, caused their bodies to be held closely together; blissfully so. Unfortunately, however, her deep and relaxing sleep had to be abruptly interrupted by the exclamations and rather pronounced fright coming from her cherished detective. The curses and yelling brought her immediately out of her sleep, eyes wide. She bolted upright, taking a swift, cursory glance around the room to make sure that there were no intruders of any sort, before bringing her eyes to the panicked, dark haired man who had awoken her. Disheveled hair, wide eyes, his form looking absolutely gorgeous... no, nope, bad moment to be admiring him. No injuries of any sort, she registered, so it had to have been a nightmare- she knew that cornered, frightened look that tarnished his lovely features; she had seen it in her own eyes plenty of nights, when she had managed to snag a look of herself in the mirror. With as little hesitation as she could manage, she wrapped her arms around his neck, gently carding her fingers through his hair and trying to bring him back to reality. What would she need, if she awoke from a nightmare? What had she needed in the past? Comfort of some kind, she supposed; warmth and some sort of healing words. Though that was her- she didn't know if that was what Sherlock would need. She pulled away slightly, holding a hand to his cheek. "Love, are you alright?" She asked, looking up at him with concern clear in her eyes. Though it was a bit narcissistic, she couldn't help but wonder just a bit if he had had a nightmare about her. Though she hoped not; she didn't want him to change his mind about her, again. She unwound herself from the blankets, keeping one hand on Sherlock at all times, wanting to ensure that he knew she was there for him at all times.

Erratic breathing slowly calming and thoughts whirling slowly back into a place of serenity, it took a while to realise where he was, exactly. Familiar walls pushing away from where they had seemed to close in on him, somewhat torn curtains making the woman beside him visible; _he was in his bedroom_. Sherlock let out a sigh of relief to Adriana's touch, and turned his wide, piercingly ice-like eyes over to her, gaze softening and leaning into her palm a little more with his cheek when noticing she was well and unharmed. It brought the poor man great comfort, the way she was so suddenly concerned and how she amended his worries almost suddenly with the soothingly elegant sound of her voice. He shook his head, realizing how frail he must've looked when embracing her touch instantly, and moved away slightly to rest the back of his head against that of the bed. Swallowing the thick lump in his throat in an attempt to clear his vocal chords-feeling sore from all of the screaming of perturbation that so suddenly woke them both- Sherlock closed his eyes and exhaled shortly; unable to help feeling utterly humiliated. The man hardly ever dreamed, let alone had nightmares; though, he had hardly anything to entertain his mind with when sleeping, considering he hardly ever slept and never seemed to really _care _about anybody. Well, until Miss Hartford. "Yes. Fine." He muttered somewhat curtly, though trying to be assuring. Flickering open his eyes, he took a hand to rest upon Adriana's hand in a gesture of affirmation. "I'm sorry... I woke you." _Way to ruin what could've been a perfect end to the beautiful moment shared. To ruin the beginning of a relationship with this woman_. Relationship? God, the idea sounded a little queer now he thought about it. Would he have to partake in all of the absurd stereotypical nonsense? What if it wasn't absurd? What if it was essential, in order to sustain a healthy- _oh stop worrying. If you're not worrying about her death, you're worrying about the time spent together alive. _

Letting out a long breath, Adriana wrapped her fingers around his, looking up at him with a raised eyebrow. "Don't apologize; I understand completely, and because of that, I know that you're not fine." She murmured, glancing up at him with searching, curious eyes. He might not open up to her about his dream; she supposed; he certainly didn't have to. And she decided not to pry; he seemed as if he was new to nightmares, and the last thing she wanted to do was dredge up whatever it was that had frightened him so. She leaned down and gently pressed a kiss to his lips, closing her eyes and feeling somewhat comforted by his gaining of composure. "But I won't bother you about it. All I'll say is that it would probably never happen." Straightening up, she glanced over at the clock by the side of his bed and swore softly, noting that it was barely even seven. She yawned and climbed off of the bed, starting to pick up her clothing. "By the way, you were rather amazing last night." Changing the subject of conversation seemed like a good idea. She tugged on her pants and, on a whim, one of his shirts, before climbing back onto the bed and falling into the sheets next to him. The previous night kept coming back in flashes, vivid and heated scenes of the both of them tangled together beneath the sheets, and Adriana couldn't help but press another kiss to his cheek.

It was hardly a change of a conversation topic; thoughts of Adriana ending up dead, leading from his careless actions, still lingered heavily in his head. Though, when glancing over to the woman herself, the only thought to replace the current one, was how beautifully enticing she could look in one of his darkened shirts. He smiled a little to the sight, relishing the kiss she pressed softly to his cheek. "You weren't too bad yourself." He remarked mockingly, with a short and unexpected wink. Bringing a hand to run softly through the messed curls upon his head, Sherlock briefly tilted his neck to the side to glance upon the clock; quickly deciding he was due a visit. Mycroft loved dearly to wake him up at ridiculous times in the morning for something or the other, though he couldn't quite think of a reason yet, seeing as the government and its lack of terrorist attacks prevented him from stopping by. He glanced over again to Adriana and sighed shortly, somehow regretting to let his mind whirl so easily around her. "You know, I think you wear that shirt better than myself." Added Sherlock with a grin, taking his index finger and tracing it gently over her cheek; regret quickly digressing to admiration as his eyes looked upon the beautiful features of her face, the amusing ruffled hair of hers and those wonderfully green eyes...

Feeling quite content and sinking back into a slightly dazed, blissful state, Adriana closed her eyes for a moment, relishing their togetherness for a bit longer before sitting upright and glancing down at herself. "Mm, well, it's a very well-known fact that any men's shirt looks better on a woman because... well, we've got breasts." She chuckled and toyed with a stray curl on his forehead, before getting out of bed again and pulling on her jeans, scratching the back of her head. She wondered if he'd allow her to go on one of his cases; he did seem to have an awful large amount of them, according to John's blog, and it sounded like quite a lot of fun to go along with him and help him solve them. Like a date, only much less boring. Would Sherlock go on a date with her? Was that the sort of thing he did? She had to doubt that either of them knew much about relationships. Come to think of it, she still didn't quite know how to act around Sherlock. A thought suddenly struck her- John. It was fairly clear to Adriana that, despite popular opinion, the both of them had not been 'together' though he and Sherlock were friends. So far estranged, though, because of the whole dying thing. Though then Sherlock (and her, to a lesser extent) had saved his life. If anyone would know how to be... around Sherlock, he would. She vaguely considered visiting him in whatever burn ward he'd been taken to... though... hospitals. Maybe he'd visit or something, and she could talk to him then about Sherlock's experience with relationships and really, /him/. Adriana glanced over at Sherlock, running her hand down her side. "So." She pressed her lips together. "Hungry?"

Watching Adriana with continuous admiration, Sherlock then pondered the offer briefly with one arched eyebrow. _Hungry_? He was hardly ever hungry- he hardly ever ate, having virtually no time to do so, always hurrying about to do one thing or the other; usually with John, venturing from client to client, taking on their individual cases no matter how outrageous or life-threatening, to keep himself busy. Though, now he wasn't really in a rush. His time wasn't limited, and he seemed rather... _normal_, currently. "Are you offering to make breakfast?" Enquired Sherlock with a small grin, sitting himself up in the bed, allowing the remainder of the duvet to fall onto his lap. Unable to notice the short silence before the suggestion, though, he wondered for a moment or two what Adriana might've been thinking about, though decided not to press her about it. Surely if it was something important she'd mention it. Kicking his legs over the side of his bed, he wrapped the blanket tightly around his torso, covering his body completely as he stood; surprised to keep his balance due to the inexplicable sensations of the previous night. In honesty, the tall, dark-haired man looked somewhat like a child in the way he held the blanket to himself; almost as if he were protecting himself from the cold or something similar. He made his way over to Adriana and leaned down to her lips to kiss her softly, murmuring a soft "Because that sounds good..." before their lips met.

Wrapping an arm loosely around his neck and pressing her lips delicately to his for a brief moment, Adriana wondered if every day was going to be like today. Waking up, groggy with happiness and the tiniest bit sore from the previous night, sinking into precious, unending kissing, everything seeming pleasant and perfect... she hoped so, in a way; conflict always seemed to find her, though, unfortunately, and she decided to cherish this while it lasted. She curled her fingers into the curls at the nape of his neck, while joyfully continuing their kiss. If only each day could be like this; no Moriarty, no Moran, no problems of any kind other than that she would have to eventually leave Sherlock's arms. Speaking of, she detached slowly and opened the door, smoothing down her sides, and his shirt, the untucked hem wrapping around her lower half in a shapely fashion. "I'm guessing you haven't had many morning afters, hmm?" She asked rhetorically, walking into the kitchen and glancing around for a moment. While she wasn't the best cook, she did at least know how to make a proper (ish) breakfast. "There's a ritual to it, depending on how the evening went." She said over her shoulder, opening the fridge and glancing inside. "If it was boring, unromantic, and overall dissatisfying, then you hightail it out at 6 AM, after hurriedly grabbing your clothes and deleting your number from his phone." She flashed him a grin as she pulled out eggs, milk, butter, and juice. "If, however, things went well..." She grinned wider, leaning against the counter and studying him with slight amusement. "You tell him it was amazing, then you wear one of his shirts, and make him breakfast. Surprisingly, it hasn't happened to me that many times. Maybe, like, once? Counting today, of course." She ran a hand through her hair, searching for flour, and some sort of frying pan. She was dying to ask how many mornings he'd woken up and had a woman in bed with him, though she didn't want to seem clingy, or God forbid, overly attached, so she stayed quiet.

Half chuckling towards Adriana's words, and following her out with his eyes first before actually moving his feet, Sherlock then stopped in the small entrance way to the room; barely anything to separate the kitchen from the hallway, though still found some sort of wall to casually lean against. He followed her with his gaze as she waltzed about the kitchen, a small smile of remark forming upon his face. "Once?" Questioned Sherlock, feeling rather special at being perhaps the only one to ever get her to stay._ Yup, defiantly using you_. Oh, stop being such a pessimist. Though, she was rather...gloriously intricate, in every way possible... and being the only one to ever fall for her was something he struggled to believe. With a short raise of his eyebrow, and a small sigh Sherlock smirked a little and said "Well, it's my pleasure." as he pushed himself gently from the wall to stand properly on his own two feet. He had barely a reason now, to resist hugging her softly from behind, to kiss that beautifully exposed skin upon her neck and feel complete for once. Though, he still had to think twice about doing such a thing-_frustratingly_- as he was obviously still new to the whole 'relationship thing'. "I'm just going to shower." He stated, half turning to the hallway, though stopping on his step quite abruptly. _You can sleep with her, but you're still afraid to bloody hug her?_ Sherlock narrowed his eyes slightly, before walking over to Adriana and kissing her softly on her right cheek; "I'll be quick." And then he entered the bathroom, mentally cursing and kicking at himself for being somewhat coward-like. Though, as soon as the sound of running water became audible, so were two firm knocks coming from the front door of the apartment.

It was true, of course, that Sherlock was the only one to make her stay. Or, at least, who /caused/ her staying, instead of her reason being that she still needed to collect some sort of information, or assassinate the guy. But it was more romantic to say that this was the only time, and she was only half-lying, since the other times didn't quite seem to count, or possibly compare to the previous night. And those others had never kissed her like Sherlock did, making each and every time their lips met unique, and stirring emotions up from each time his lips met her skin. The kiss to her cheek was a bit restrained, though she didn't mind, since the both of them were clearly new to this... being-together thing that could sort of be called a relationship. Although Adriana had to admit, she did wish just a little bit that she could join him in the shower. But she was cooking for him (read attempting to cook for him). And someone had just knocked on the door, which was fantastic. She didn't quite know if she was ready to talk to people who she couldn't make out with yet, though after some brief thought, she figured that she really had enjoyed the previous night far too much to be any shade of irritated this morning. Running a hand through her slightly tangled hair, she strode over to the door and flicked the lock open, before promptly pulling the door open as well. Of course, there had to be the one person who she probably would get irritated with- Mycroft. "Can I help you?" She asked with mock politeness. He side-stepped her and walked inside the flat, making her roll her eyes and resist punching him or something more damaging. "I thought vampires had to wait until they were invited in. But hey, what do I know? I'm just a mortal." She grinned and strode back into the kitchen. "Sherlock's in the shower, Drac, so make yourself comfortable." She knew that the little red marks that Sherlock had left all over her collarbone and neck were probably visible, though she decided not to care if Mycroft saw. He was rather vampiric; enough that Adriana could very well imagine staking him, which was enough to keep her from actually harming him.

The tall and rather slender man spun his walking stick gently in his grip idly, as he stood in the center of the living area. He caught a small glance over to Adriana, soon noticing the faint vermillion coloured marks pattered over her neck, disdain again clear in his eyes. "Vampirism runs in the family. _Quite obviously_." Mycroft muttered with an imperceptible eye roll. The walking stick stopped short, and he turned on his heel to take in her appearance more intently. The fact that she had numerous 'love bites' - oh, how he despised the term - scattered upon her body suggested that Sherlock was either putting on quite the role for gathering information from her, or that perhaps he had allowed himself to feel momentarily affectionate for this..._woman _who stood before him. Of course, though, Mycroft would have to accept it, and forgive his brother. Though he was just teasing about his feelings for Adriana, Sherlock would never actually _partake _in a thing such as love. Surely. And the shirt she was wearing discomforted him highly. He'd mention how it was 'too big for her, and looks awfully horrendous' though he decided not to voice it, on the off chance she'd remove it in front of him considering she'd done that before. Although, he doubted that, as she was currently making breakfast for the man showering, mind clearly intoxicated with the presumably fake love he was feeding her; so of course she'd be faithful, and loyal. Mycroft chuckled internally to her gullibility, thankful that she had taken on some form of weakness, and relatively excited to see the consequences. "How long will he be?" Enquired Mycroft nonchalantly, with that curt and rather stern voice of his.

Raising an eyebrow at the snake-like man, she picked up the kettle and moved it over to the sink. "How long?" Adriana let out a long breath. "Like I know how long it takes for him to shower. I haven't gotten the chance to join him quite yet." She grinned and shrugged a bit, filling it with water before bringing it over to the stove. Mycroft, while being rather weak and someone she could easily judo flip, did have the capability to make her a little bit nervous. More than a little bit, actually. He seemed like some big brother from hell, and as much as she loved Sherlock, she didn't think that any amount of kissing was going to put her in a good enough mood to deal with him. She pulled a frying pan out of the cabinet, curling her fingers around the handle and feeling temporarily tempted to hit him in the head with the metal pan. What was it about him that made her feel so violent? Maybe just... his face? "Have you got a message or something I can give him?" She asked, setting the pan on the stove and glancing out of the doorway into the living room, detecting that she could easily kick him in the stomach. "I don't want you... lumping about. You sort of mess up the whole Feng shui of the room."

Almost forgetting he was living in a world of complete and utter goldfish, Mycroft sighed disrespectfully and glanced down the hallway to the bathroom. He supposed it was stupid to think Adriana would, perhaps, be able to take an educated estimate in order to conjure the answer; though she didn't seem at all educated in his eyes. Mycroft's gaze turned hesitantly back to Adriana- She spoke too much for his liking, each word being meaningless and hardly of any relevance which just infuriated him further- his eyes as sharp as his posture and as piercingly-malevolent as his personality. "I'd like to tell him myself, if that's alright with you." He said, forcing a sarcastically polite smile to his lips, which pained him greatly. Did she even have any idea who she was currently speaking to? Especially with that tone, he'd expect her to think twice. Keeping in mind he had ridiculous amounts of power, if not that, then he saved both herself and Sherlock from a literal, torturous experience in Serbia. Not _one _word of thanks, either. "And _I _don't want _you _'lumping about', either. Looks like neither of us are getting what we want any time soon." Stated the tall man with an insulting tone imbedded into his voice, as though it were natural and meant to be there. Mycroft glanced over again to the bathroom, once more before it opened, revealing a damp Sherlock to appear in the hallway's; lower body hidden with a towel. "Brother, mine!" Exclaimed Mycroft, utterly thankful for having somebody else's company to endure other than Adriana's. Seeing the various marks upon Sherlock, however, was slightly different. It brought a sense of uncertainty upon him, one he tried his utmost to doubt. "Mycroft?" Sherlock strolled into the living area, quickly glancing to Adriana; subconsciously checking if he had bothered her in any way. "What is it?" Questioned the other Holmes, as he approached his brother. "It's John. I thought I'd come to inform you that he'll be out of hospital in two to three hours. His condition isn't lethal, and he has recovered rather well; though the wounds weren't too bad, either. I suppose this is just a little warning," Said Mycroft, glancing over to Adriana with an in-evident frown, and spiteful look of disgust; "That he'll be visiting you...two... later."

While Adriana did want to focus on the exchange between Mycroft and Sherlock, there was the distracting problem of Sherlock's lack of shirt, and the rather gorgeous red marks along his skin that she had made. If his disturbed brother hadn't been present, she would most definitely have curled her fingers into his hair, pushed him against the wall, and refreshed the marks with more kissing and nipping at his perfect, statuesque skin... She pulled herself out of her daze and looked up at the both of them, starting to pay attention again. Something about John. Oh, he was coming to visit them or something. Why would they need a warning? Didn't matter, she decided, and ran a hand down Sherlock's arm. God, he was attractive. /How/ in any universe, could he be related to this eel standing across from them with his cane? Why did he even have a cane? Not as if he looked cool with it or something. She cleared her throat, glancing up at the both of them and feeling suddenly rather small; she was a bit short, after all, and they were so... not short. The pessimistic thoughts that had temporarily plagued her during the preceding night returned temporarily, and she wondered if Sherlock really thought her attractive, or intelligent, or whatever it was that he claimed to love her for. Why doubt it, though? He didn't have a reason to falsely admire her, unless he was just sadistic. Which he wasn't. She cleared those thoughts from her head and smiled artificially. "Mr. Holmes, you really must refrain from looking at me with such hateful eyes. One might get the impression that you don't like me." She said, switching to a posh accent that nearly perfectly mimicked his, forming her lips into a pout.

It was found relatively hard to focus upon what Mycroft had to say, within the time Adriana ran a hand smoothly down the bare skin of his arm. Sherlock resisted the urge well, to shudder, and push Mycroft suddenly from the scene to leave them both alone. Though all he settled for doing was clearing his throat to keep his composure still and steady, staring with seemingly attentive eyes over to the suited-man. When hearing Adriana's words, both men turned away from the conversation to look upon her; one holding an undoubtedly amused expression, as the other held a rather irritated one. "We wouldn't want anybody thinking that now, would we?" Replied Mycroft with clear annoyance in his eyes. He shot his brother a look, as if anticipating some sort of explanation for her behavior. For his _interest _in her. _It's false, he's just putting on a performance is all,_ he mentally assured himself with a short sigh. "He'll be around early afternoon, I presume. As he's had an early breakfast." Without finding the need to elaborate on his point, fully aware Sherlock was already to understand the casual way of deductions, Mycroft strolled through the door, beginning to swing about his walking skin again in his hand before using it to aid himself as he made his way down the staircase and out of the door. Before he left, however, Sherlock caught the faintest whisper of 'I hope you know what you're doing, brother mine.' which could've meant anything, in his mind. Had he already latched onto the fact him and Adriana were in love? No, of course not, or he'd have Adriana removed quite suddenly. And Mycroft didn't look too... _smug_, at the time. Just for now, though, he was to have his suspicions, noted Sherlock, before turning to Adriana with a somewhat apologetic look.

Letting out a long sigh of relief once Mycroft had adjourned to whatever cave he lurked in, Adriana reached a hand up and carded her fingers through his damp curls, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Well, now, Sherlock mine," She continued with mimicking Mycroft, particularly emphasizing the 'Sherlock mine' bit, "I find I'm perfectly able to say that his presence has vexed me terribly, and I require some form of physical contact as reparations." She grinned and pecked a kiss to his lips, wondering for the fiftieth time how on Earth Sherlock could be related to that man. "You're not adopted, by any chance?" She asked, returning to her normal voice and striding over to the kettle, which had begun to hiss. "Because that would ease my mind considerably." She let out a long breath and took the kettle off of the stove, pouring hot water into two mugs and adding teabags. She was rather glad to hear that John would visit, considering she did mean to inquire as to something about Sherlock, and probably make some joke about her interaction so far had been pulling him away from things (first Sherlock, then a bonfire). She continued moving around the kitchen, feeling surprisingly comfortable in Sherlock's shirt, working on making some sort of breakfast for him.

God, those words sounded so much better coming from Adriana's lips, he mused as they kissed shortly. Sherlock chuckled lightly, closing the door with a soft push of his hand before strolling over to Adriana and wrapping his arms around her torso from behind; simply unable to resist doing so for any longer. "I wouldn't be surprised if I was. I suppose I'd be somewhat grateful..." It was quite an awful thing to say, yet it was completely true in every sense. Seeing yourself as the smartest one in the family-as conceited at that may sound- it'd make more sense for Sherlock to be adopted. His intelligence surely came from somewhere, right? Obeying her earlier commands, literal or not, Sherlock began to press small yet passionate kisses to her neck again, smirking slightly to the sensation. It was rather odd, yet completely understandable, of how once Sherlock had fallen for Adriana, and succumbed generously to his wants, he couldn't seem to stop sinking deeper and deeper into her love. "Four sugars." He whispered gently into her ear, struggling to drop the smirk engraved onto his lips.

Smiling over her shoulder and pressing the mug into his hands, Adriana playfully pecked the tip of his nose, having to stand on her toes in order to do so. "Get them yourself." She cooed, a small smirk forming on her lips. Him being so close and affectionate helped restore a mite of her self-confidence, though Mycroft's presence had definitely caused it to wane, for whatever reason. Maybe it was the condescending way he looked at her, or perhaps it was the irritating falseness to his whole demeanor. As if it was painful for him to even speak to her. She turned back to the stove, distracting herself from her thoughts by cracking a few eggs into the frying pan, along with a bit of butter. Of course, there was also that frustrating little speck of doubt that she had in Sherlock's love for her; it was absurd and ridiculous, of course, though... well, if his brother could hardly bear being around her, why would Sherlock stand for her presence? Because he's not his brother, she reminded herself; and he loves her. Unless he was making it all up. _Have you any idea how absurd you sound?_ Hm. Different voice. She wasn't certain of where it had come from, or how she could tell it was a different voice, but it certainly seemed to have a bit of sense to it. _The man adores you, and he's made it very clear. You're going to drive this relationship into a smoldering wreckage, all because of some insane idea in your head_. Well, it's not really a 'relationship'; that's such a... proper term. It's more of a being together sort of thing. _It's a relationship. Grow up. So_, what, this was her mature side? Did she even have a mature side? _Everyone does. Stop thinking in such a juvenile fashion._ She cleared her throat, turning back to the food she was making and using a spatula to turn the eggs over. "Is the rest of your family like him?" She asked, glancing over her shoulder at Sherlock.

Taking the mug from her grip, and smirking cheekily to her words, Sherlock unwound his arms from her waist and stood over to a kitchen counter to do exactly that; prepare some tea. It was so..._comforting_, he supposed was the right word, of how Adriana seemed to do or say the right things at any given time. Words laced with sarcasm, mockery or just over all legitimacy, it didn't matter. Any word to leave her lips, and echo into his ears from that silky, pleasant and alluring voice of hers would sound simply marvelous. She could throw an insult in his way and he'd embrace it with much gratitude. Though, the small smile he found himself presenting to the sheer thought of silent admiration, soon faded to her question. Nobody had asked of his family before, not even John, so Sherlock took a moment or two in order to figure out some sort of reasonable answer. "No." He stated, with a short chuckle to soothe his uneasiness; "Nor are they like I." He pulled out a teaspoon and added his acceptable amount of sugars into the water merged with tea-leaf essence, before continuing. "I suppose you could say they are quite...normal. _Plain_, rather, compared to my brother and me... My parents, that is. They're enough to handle, so I don't mix with my presumed uncles, aunts and cousins." After disposing of the teabag and spoon, Sherlock swiftly took the mug by the handle and turned to gaze upon Adriana, casually leaning against the counter behind him. In all honesty, he did still think she was amazing; and so gladly thought it, at that, considering he didn't have any form of helpless euphoria to fall back on. A form of euphoria which caused a small speck of guilt to build in the back of his mind to his subliminal doubt. He took a sip from his tea, and let out a thoughtful-hardly audible- sigh. His eyes widened merely, and he turned to again quickly to place the mug to the counter beside him; "I'd better go and get some clothes on." He stated when realizing he was still in his towel, flashing Adriana a somewhat dashing smirk with his eyes glistening.

While it would have been nice to speak of her own family, Adriana knew that there wasn't much of a response she could formulate that would match the amount of information Sherlock had given about him and his family. She disliked having to speak in past tense, anyways; he was amazing, he said she was this... it was all too painful, so she remained silent, until Sherlock proposed putting on clothing, which seemed like a rather unattractive suggestion. She pouted a little, then turned to look at him quite pointedly. "Do you have to?" She complained, letting her emerald eyes wander up his form indiscreetly. She wondered if this would ever get old; kissing, hugging, seeing him half naked. Would it lose the genuineness, or the passion? She didn't want to think about their love dying, though, so she abandoned her cooking, and hurried over him to press a kiss to his lips. God, he was like nicotine. Addictive, and he gave her such a rush. She kissed him once more, before hurrying back over to the stove so she didn't set anything on fire (an involuntary past time of hers during some of the times she had tried to cook). "Fine, if you must. Even though I'd much prefer for you to walk around the flat like that all day." She stage-murmured the last part, so he was sure to hear her, and tossed a few sugar cubes into her tea, counting them mindlessly.

Embracing Adriana's kiss generously, undeniably wishing that it could've lasted longer than merely few seconds, Sherlock afterwards nodded once and smirked a little. "I might catch a cold." He teased, blinking once, harshly, to break the stare he found himself holding upon her. _Yet again_. Rolling his eyes and sighing internally, Sherlock sort of hoped he wasn't so..._entranced _by her. Though, the experience was something he'd gladly cherish, and never give up for another. He strolled into his bedroom, slipping on his underwear and usual attire before shortly returning to the kitchen; suddenly despising every moment spent away from Adriana. _Bit obsessed, already, aren't you? _When waltzing through the hallway though, to the kitchen, Sherlock took a bit of logic from the voice and slowed down the pace in which he walked. He didn't know _how _Adriana made him feel so differently, or _why _she gave him a love no other person could or would, even; though he did know _what _it was he adored so dearly about her. There was hardly anything to dislike. He sighed shortly as he entered, taking back his mug and bringing it to his lips, watching her attentively.

After the rather distracting presence of one Sherlock Holmes was gone, Adriana found herself focusing a bit more on managing to make food. The idea that women were meant to cook, while being sexist, was also very flawed. She had nearly set her Da's house on fire when she'd tried to make dinner... though that was when she was 9, and she'd aged considerably since then. And she was managing fairly well so far. Besides, that little incident when she was 9 had taught her that putting an egg in the microwave did not cook it, but produce a loud, explosive bang. Which she'd admittedly used to distract a guard once. But that life was behind her, she thought to herself with a small sigh of either relief, or perhaps disbelief. It didn't seem possible to just escape a life like that; leave it all behind and move on to a life with one place to live in, instead of multiple motel rooms and abandoned house; a life with an actual, stable relationship (though she was still hesitant to use that word) with a man who had no connection to any triad, ring, or gang (as far as she knew) and loved her. Maybe she understood Aggie's decision a bit more now, she thought quietly. When Sherlock came back in, she'd finished making scrambled eggs, as well as toast and jam. "Even if it sucks, choke it down; I'm very sensitive about my cooking." She teased, setting two plates down at the table and grabbing her mug of tea from the counter.

The more he thought about it, the more he realized making breakfast for them both-_both_, including Sherlock- being a rather... Unexpected? Queer? Pointless? ... Gesture. He still didn't really understand the concept of being 'together' or 'with some'. As he'd always been alone. Even with John, he supposed, he could still be fairly concealed, though he was the only person he had ever really spoken to on a formal level. John was somewhat like his conscience, when he thought about it. He'd always speak aloud, in hope he'd hear and have some sort of input; most of the time causing him to rethink his decisions, and refashion a plan. Which could be frustrating. Taking another sip from the tea, Sherlock glanced down to the meal upon the table and remained silent for a short while. Well, it certainly smelled... Edible. "Why?" He enquired, as he pulled out a chair to seat himself. "I mean, why did you make this?" He picked up a fork, and gesture to the food whilst looking up to Adriana with genuine curiosity. She said it was a part of some sort of ritual thing, but it just didn't add up. Didn't really make sense, there was hardly a reason to do so. Nevertheless, Sherlock was rather hungry, and built up quite the appetite from last night's activities-_god, did that really happen though?_-so he took a mouthful of some of the scrambled egg and washed it down with another gulp from his tea. Short snippets from the actions previously taken place in his bedroom flashed through his memory, causing the hairs on the back of his neck to rise, and a sort of warm feeling to approach his stomach. The closeness of their bodies, the way they expressed their love, through words and physical gestures... It was all quite amazing when he thought about it. Sherlock cleared his throat and glanced over to the woman he held a new-found love for, smiling slightly.

Sitting down across from him and picking up the fork, Adriana raised her eyebrow at him. "Well..." She paused for a moment, starting to eat and thinking over his question. She had never really contemplated why making someone breakfast after sex was a 'thing'. She took a sip of tea, deciding she had managed to make something somewhat edible- though you're always your harshest critic, she reminded herself- and she probably shouldn't worry too much about assaulting Sherlock's mouth with anything but her lips. "I suppose it originally started out as a way to keep one's lover around after everything, in case they think of it as a one night stand sort of thing." She shrugged a bit. "Though I think I do it to show you that I care about you, to some degree." Underselling it a bit, but she did say it with a bit of a sarcastic twist. "Since I hardly ever even cook for myself." She grinned at him and ran a hand through her hair, taking another small bite of food.

It was... -no, not adorable, that was hardly the word... enjoyable? Odd? Comforting, maybe? - sweet... how Adriana had cared for him; how she admitted it. The topic was a bit unusual for Sherlock, and so he attempted to avoid it, or digress from it instead of asking why she cared for him so. He gave her a small smile and a quick nod, before taking a few more mouthfuls from the food, letting a small silence approach. He took this while to contemplate, though, if he were to eat this meal it'd somehow suggest he was intending to leave her alone again and the meal was a way of luring him back in. Sherlock frowned a little and dropped his fork to the side of the plate, and sat back in his chair, glancing over to Adriana. "I was going to stay with you." He stated, a tone to his voice implying that it was rather obvious- though, he supposed it was far from patent, as he had left once before. _What a stupid and childish mistake that was,_ he told himself. Soon thinking he was probably making a big fuss over barely nothing, Sherlock sighed shortly, and grabbed his fork again before continuing with his breakfast; "You're going to like John." He said. "He's far better than Mycroft. Though, I suppose everybody is."

It felt extraordinarily bizarre to be doing something as homely and routine as eating breakfast around Sherlock. Well, though, even genius detectives who spend half their days running about London, disabling bombs and pulling their friends out of bonfires have to eat sometimes, she reasoned, smiling a little to herself. She raised an eyebrow at the comment about her liking John- considering he'd somehow managed to lure Aggie, no, _Mary_, out of her life of violence and adventure, she supposed there had to be something somewhat likable about him- and how he was better than Mycroft. "I do hope you're not being spiteful about Mycroft just because I utterly despise him." She commented. Though it was clear that that was not the case, she couldn't help but mention it. Sarcasm was her main forte. She crossed her legs and continued eating, continuing to ponder the queer normality of the situation. Sherlock didn't actually seem to eat very much, now that she considered it. Had he really eaten anything since she had gotten here? It didn't seem possible for someone to survive that long without food, though Sherlock, again, didn't seem very... possible. His intelligence, his level of attractiveness, his... everything.

The sensation of food upon his tongue, re-activating his taste buds, was a little odd at first; hence the hesitation to begin eating. He supposed his stomach had shrunken a bit, decreasing his appetite, or perhaps swelled a little in-evidently. A breakfast like this each morning should cure it in no time, though, he mused with a small smile to the thought; after sex breakfast. Suddenly clearing his throat, admittedly almost choking on the food to the utterly uncharacteristic thought- though, now he completely understood the whole 'sex' concept, or 'making love' thing, as the feeling was indeed completely inexplicable... though, the good kind of inexplicable, incomprehensible; despite thinking there was hardly anything good to being clueless- blinking harshly, and taking his tea to soothe his throat. He glanced up to Adriana, finding himself smiling again just to the sight of her, just to the sound of her voice, just to being in her presence- You're utterly intoxicated with this girl, it's not healthy. "Pfft," Began Sherlock, though pausing for a moment to contemplate the question. Was he only speaking ill of his brother to protect Adriana? To back up her opinion of him? Nah... No. He was genuinely...annoying. Conceited. "Everyone utterly despises him, quite obviously. As he doesn't have any friends. Evidently making me better than him in every way possible." Sherlock flashed her a smirk, taking another bite from the food and successfully avoiding to choke on it again, when re-gaining his composure.

Grinning at his synopsis of Mycroft, and his correlation to Sherlock- which was quite accurate, she decided- Adriana finished eating and picked up her plate, setting it in the sink. "Well, your superiority was obvious enough from the start, love." She commented, walking past him and running her fingers through his curls. She strode into the living room and glanced out of the window, noting the outline of white frost on the window panes. "As hot as I'm sure I look in your shirt and jeans, I'm not dressed at all for the weather." She pouted a little, not wanting to abandon Sherlock's shirt, though knowing if she planned to go outside at any point she would sort of have to change. "I'm going to go up and change into something a bit more appropriate, but I'm not saying that I'll give you your shirt back." She added with a broad grin, before leaving the flat for the moment and heading up the stairs to the other room. She wasn't sure if she should consider it her room, or John's old room, and 'the other room' worked as a good placeholder until she figured it out. She walked inside and shed Sherlock's shirt, as well as the shorts, and dressed in long jeans, a long-sleeved shirt, and her newest leather boots. She was about to go and find her jacket, figuring she had tossed it somewhere, when her phone rang. Which was odd. She'd gotten a phone the other day, yes, but who the hell would have the number? She herself didn't even know the number. She walked over and picked it up, glancing at the words that were hung on the illuminated screen, each of which made her blood freeze.

_It's been a while, hasn't it, darling? JMxx_

Undeniably, the word 'love' sounded better to his own ears when coming from Adriana's lips. And, admittedly, his chest suddenly felt quite light for a moment or two; another strange sensation he had never before encountered. He followed her intently with his eyes, taking in every minute and intricate detail of her clothed body, her facial expressions - though that proved difficult when she had her back to him - body language and posture. The way she waltzed about as if she owned the place, the high level of conviction in which she had to state her obvious beauty aloud... Well, everything about her was truly fascinating to Sherlock. He'd never think to get bored of her, he silently remarked, mouth twitching into a small smile. The detective nodded once in return, before Adriana made her way up another flight of stairs. He finished off his breakfast before standing himself, to place the plate and cutlery in the sink. Sherlock was never really one to clean dished and what not, though, for some odd reason - perhaps it was a favour in return for Adriana - he decided to roll up his dress-shirt sleeves, and turn on the tap. Whilst cleaning, his thoughts continued to spiral in every possible way when thinking about the woman he had spent the night with. A night full of helpless passion, lust and affection. In response to his thoughts, Sherlock smiled a little - the appreciation merely perceivable - and let out a small sigh of content; finding himself acting somewhat - no, actually _a lot _- like a lovesick teenager. Though, he was too lost in the thought of Adriana to really punish himself for doing so, despite being aware.

Several choice words regarding the man who had sent her this message ran through Adriana's head, though no amount of swearing could cover up what was really overwhelming her mind- _fear_. She looked down at her phone and unlocked it, going to get a better look at his message. He'd sent it from a blocked number, of_ course_, so she could hardly glean anything from the number. Actually, she couldn't glean anything from anything at the moment because most of what was cluttering her head was '_fuck, he knows where I am, and he knows my phone number, and he probably knows a lot more than just that, and I'm pretty sure I'm the deadest person in this whole world, unless... oh, fuck, and Sherlock, too.' _She was so unprepared to deal with him right now, and that scared her even more. As much as she wanted to throw her phone out the window, run downstairs, and preferable make out with Sherlock some more, this was her problem, and she really didn't want to get him involved. Nor did she want him to know that Moriarty had found out where she was, and who she was with. A new message popped up on her screen, and she had to force herself to look down.

_No response? Didn't you miss me? JMxx _

As if she could bloody miss someone like him. She silenced her phone quickly, feeling a bit of panic surging through her chest. What did she have to defend herself against him? A gun, and herself. And he had so much power... he could have her killed within the hour. Feeling nervous, she stood up and drew the curtains, quickly, then leaned against a wall panel right next to them. Her phone buzzed in her hand—

_Must we really play this game? I know you've just drawn the curtains, and I know you're wearing black, which really drains you terribly. Feeling nervous? JMxx_

Deep breaths, right? That was how you stopped freaking out, or at least, that was the extent of what she could remember about how to calm down...

_Fine, you're still being stubborn. How about this? You meet me a few blocks away from 221 B within the next fifteen minutes, or I'll shoot Sherly. Though it will be such a pain to do so, and really, it would be a pity for him to die because of you. JMxx _

Son of a goat headed demon... She let out a long breath and tucked her phone in her back pocket, returning down the stairs and hoping she didn't seem too out of touch with her normal self. She ducked into the living room for a moment. "Sherlock?" She cleared her throat, running a hand through her hair. "I... I'm going to take a walk. Get to know the area, vantage points, any faults in construction that would be good for explosives, that kind of thing." She hated lying to him, of all people, though considering that Moriarty had some sort of close watch on the both of them, it would be better not to tell him about the messages.

When drying, and returning the plates to the cupboard, Sherlock quickly wiped down his hands with a cloth before rolling down his sleeves and turning to Adriana. He had found himself actually feeling rather upset as she still had the need to do so, how she endeavored to feel as secure as possible. Yes, danger did follow him a lot, but did he really make her feel so unsafe? It's not like anybody had actually died; well, John didn't. And his own death was only temporary. Not to mention fake. The brightness of his eyes faded a little as he strolled into the living area, and looked to Adriana skeptically. There was a short moment's silence, and Sherlock resisted the urge to abruptly cut in and ask why. Her facial expression had changed slightly, and so had her posture. She looked a little drawn, and...what was the saying? _'You look like you've just seen a ghost'_. Yes, rather stupefied. What could've frightened her, though? From upstairs? What could've frightened her so much to believe Sherlock couldn't help? He frowned a little internally, and held his hands behind his back, entwining his fingers. Maybe she was going to see John? No... John was due to visit. And surely she wouldn't be so secretive. But then who? The only thing's he recalled that had scared her in the slightest would be anything to do with hospitals; doctors and such. The mention of her father always seemed to make her a bit uneasy. Though her father was dead. Why, he was murdered by Moriarty. Who was supposedly alive and- _Oh God, no._ Her description of him was rather accurate;_ Moriarty was a snake_. Cunning, discreet... Had he somehow threatened her, perhaps? _Of bloody course he had, don't waste time second-guessing._ Sherlock subconsciously walked closer to Adriana and brought his hands from behind his back to rest on either of her arms. "Don't." Was all he muttered, staring to her with desperation. If she left she was certain to meet him. Of course she wouldn't do so voluntarily; she didn't seem prepared enough at the time to kill him. And leaving without consulting him had hardly made any sense. Who would Moriarty threaten? Her mother? Did she even have a mother? His mind was working to its fullest, and Sherlock felt he could hardly deduce any more at the time. Until he had proven himself wrong. If Moriarty knew she was here, he knew she was with Sherlock. And whose life would he put in jeopardy? His own. "He wouldn't kill me so easily." He added, in a whisper. "God, we were playing a five year game until our suicides."

Because of course Sherlock would be able to figure her out so bloody easily. She let out a long breath and picked her jacket off of the arm of the couch, where she appeared to have left it. "Look, I..." She closed her eyes for a moment, wishing that she could just stand here and have his hands on her arms, and somehow feel... safe, despite the situation. "I don't want to take that risk." She didn't know what Moriarty would want from her, should she go and meet him, though she did know that she could probably escape him if he tried to capture her again. And she was already planning to bring her gun with her. Though maybe she was just desperately trying to convince herself that she would be okay, so that Sherlock wouldn't get hurt, or possibly be hurt. Or killed. The last thing she wanted right now was innocent blood on _her_ hands. Maybe he would just want information. Now that she was actually attached to someone, he did have proper leverage to make her talk. As long as Sherlock was safe, though, she didn't care if he knew her real name, or why she was after him, or any of the other things she refused to tell him before. She paused for a moment, then leaned forward and wrapped her arms around Sherlock's neck. Could they really not have just a brief moment of happiness before evil incarnate had to come and torture them? "I don't want there to even be the possibility that he might kill you." She separated and shrugged on her jacket, before picking her gun off of the side table and tucking it into her back pocket, covering it up with her shirt. "I know how to play him." Sort of. She had managed to manipulate a few times, though she was pretty sure he had allowed her to do so. Him being so damn clever and knowing and... God, she hated him. "I can do this." She insisted, scared for her sake and for Sherlock's, though more for the latter than the former.

If he weren't so fantastically paranoid at that very moment, Sherlock would've taken Adriana and kissed her, and hugged her, and he would've never let go- of course, there was the extremely high possibility that Moriarty had someone looking in on 221B from the nearest window somewhere, though, and the worst possible thing he could do right now was confirm his love for her. Discreetly turning his back to the window, Sherlock looked down to Adriana and spoke in a very small whisper- God, the apartment had virtually been abandoned for years; one of his men could've installed some sort of hidden security camera or something for the time Sherlock was away- "You can't play him. He isn't the game." He sighed shortly, hesitating greatly, in a fashion of vexation and impatience. It was hardly fair, he thought. If Adriana got to leave, wanting to protect him in doing so? Well, like Hell she'd let him venture of to find Moriarty if the roles were switched. The theory that maybe he could get some of his Homeless Network following Adriana, and reporting back to him as soon as possible seemed rather... well, in this case, absurd. Half of them were probably already dead. He'd most defiantly send John, or Mary, but he was in hospital and of course Moriarty knew it. _Clever bastard_. Sherlock moved only the tiniest bit closer to Adriana, and slipped his hand into the back pocket of her jeans, slowly removing the gun and tossing it onto the sofa behind her. "That will be the death of you." He mumbled, knowing there was no way in Hell he'd stop her from going. The most he could do was give her advice, expand her life a little more, just to give him more time to think of a way to prevent her life from ending at all. To conjure some sort of way to kill Moriarty, himself.

Adriana made a mental note to not try to lie to Sherlock again. She felt horrible enough for attempting to, and it was very clear that he easily saw through it. She glanced at the gun, where he had tossed it, and immediately felt a bit jitterier. Without a gun, she was just... her. Numbers, and her. But, she told herself with as much confidence as she could, Moriarty likes to play games. _He won't kill me when he sees me. He'll wait; mess around and taunt me, but he won't kill me. _She swallowed thickly, faintly feeling her phone buzzing again. "I'm going." She said firmly, though Sherlock seemed to have accepted that by now. "I'll be fine, though, I promise." She cleared her throat. Who was she trying to convince? Herself, or Sherlock? For a brief moment, she wrapped her arms tightly around the other man's shoulders, closing her eyes. She couldn't help but feel a bit like she was heading to her death, and she wanted to be able to remember how Sherlock's arms felt around her. Letting out a small sigh, she separated from him and adjusted her jacket around her shoulders. "I'll be back." She said in a soft tone of voice, before turning on her heel and heading out of the door to the flat. There was a sort of chill running up and down her spine, and her heart was beating rather fast- she wished that Sherlock hadn't figured it out. It would be so much easier had he not. She pulled out her phone as she exited the flat, and looked down at the message she'd received inside.

_I'm getting impatient, darling. JMxx_

She walked a little bit faster, glancing over her shoulder at the windows across from 221 B, and hoped that Sherlock had the sense to draw the curtains.

Despite wanting to embrace her closer, kiss her as if the world were about to end, Sherlock knew he couldn't. Not when there was a very good chance they were being watched. So, for the meanwhile, he allowed her to hold him with a silence he couldn't bear, looking directly to her from eye to beautiful eye. He couldn't return the gesture, and he wouldn't. The actions would speak words he couldn't possibly. They'd tell her 'goodbye', but he knew full well she wasn't going to die. And so he left it at that, before he was left utterly alone in the room. He turned his gaze slowly to the windows to his left, head bowing slightly and contemplated closing the curtains whilst he searched the house for some wires or some sort of device. It was best to act normal, though. Casual. Unbothered. As far as Moriarty knew, Adriana was just an information supplier for him; there was only false sentiment given. And if it was kept that way, he wouldn't kill her. Killing her would, perhaps, not bother Sherlock in the slightest. And that wouldn't give Jim any advantage, he told himself. None at all. Slowly, his way of thinking forcefully changed into something remorseless, spiteful and... Well, somewhat like his older self. Sherlock turned away from the window and walked steadily towards the bookcase, pulling out a book, and taking a seat on his armchair._ Don't do anything suspicious_, the voice in his mind said repeatedly. _Don't do anything suspicious_. He timed it. It was said every two seconds or so, demanding and warning.

Not having a weapon on her really did, in the end, make her feel very defenseless. She had studied enough to know that the human body was a dangerous thing, which could be used to easily incapacitate a man, or woman, though she had never quite managed to feel secure being without at least a knife or _something_. She continued along the street, glancing momentarily ahead and catching the brief view of Sebastian Moran, waiting outside of an alley. _Seriously, an alley? What are they going to do, beat me up and take my lunch money?_ She rolled her eyes, figuring that as long as she knew she didn't have much control over this situation, she could always be really sarcastic about it, so she at least felt a bit superior. Moran was tall, muscled, had dirty blond hair, and generally had the henchman look down pat. It was Adriana's understanding that he had been in some war at some point, though she could hardly see him serving some country after he'd carved his initials into her stomach. Trying to walk with as much confidence as she could, with her arms wrapped around herself against the cold, the young woman paused in front of Sebastian Moran, and glanced up at him. "Fancy meeting you here." She said under her breath, shooting him a somewhat resentful glare, before glancing into the alleyway he was either guarding or merely loitering around. Unfortunately, it was the former, and she saw the terribly familiar snake, wearing one of his customary suits- _well, they said the devil would be attractive_- with two more of his henchmen standing next to him. Somewhat reluctantly, she strode forward, glancing at each of the guards next to him in turn before forcing her eyes to rest on _him_. "Is there some outlet mall where you can buy, like, a surplus of evil minions to do your bidding? I'd really like to know where you manage to find so many pieces of human scum to protect you." She commented dryly.

"And hello to you too, Adriana, _darling_." His voice was like the finest of silks, snaking through the air and into the direction he utmost desired. Anything he could say would send a shiver down your spine; a shiver of sheer discomfort. Uneasiness. But deep down, he'd make you realise it was a shiver of undeniable, and shameful pleasure. His hands were held casually in his dress-trouser pockets, and he was wearing the usual, formal attire of a three-pieced, expensive-looking suit. His eyes didn't move at all from the woman stood before him- the very nervous one, at that- as a smile crept onto his lips. His focused flickered from three points upon her body; her jacket, jeans, and boots, quickly checking that she was unarmed. He supposed she intended on bringing a gun, going by the small crease and unevenness of the back of her shirt. _Good job she didn't_, he thought. _What an awful mistake that would've been_. Finally, he shrugged his broad shoulders, smile turning to a somewhat conceited smirk as he gestured briefly to either man stood beside him. "They're more for show, really. You know, just to look a bit more intimidating? _I'm _the one who stands around, looking pretty, after all. And that's hardly seen as threatening, don't you think?" His smile widened once more before dropping slightly, the tone of his voice still as casual and nonchalant as ever as he proceeded to talk. "So... You and _Sherl_?" He chuckled a little, taking a hand and running it through his combed hair smoothly, as a sarcastically surprised expression fell over his face. "Well... Give us all the gossip, hmm? How's that working for ya?"

Christ, his voice was like an ice cube dropped down her spine, slick and cold and smooth, spiking up goose bumps along her nerve points. It took almost every single ounce of Adriana's self-control not to panic, punch him, punch his guards, or run. Or all of those. She shivered, imperceptibly, and adjusted her posture to put all her weight on one foot, tilting her head to the side slightly and looking somewhat like an irritated, albeit chastised teenager. "_Sherlock_ and I are just fine, but thanks for asking, stalker." She rolled her eyes again, though she didn't let any of them- the guards, Moran, or Moriarty- out of her sight lines for a single moment. "So, creep, you found me, and you somehow found my phone number. Though if you know me at all, you know it'd be much cooler to summon me using green letters on a black background while my computer was working on some firewall, Matrix style. Not like I'd expect you to have that level of class, though. What do you want?" _Cut to the chase, then get the hell out of here,_ she thought sternly, feeling her heart rate speed up in panic, just at the way that those guards were looking for her. He was 6'5, and weighed approximately 230 lb., which she was definitely not prepared to deal with. The other seemed to match up more or less, so clearly, Jim had a type for his props. _So now you're referring to him by his first name? _Moriarty, creep, stalker, snake, son of a snake-headed demon-possessed whore, whatever.

Eyes running over her indiscreetly, with faint wonder and strong boredom, Jim sighed shortly in response with a small shake of his head, casting his eyes to meet her gaze again. "Well, right know I'd like you to apologise. That's no way to speak to an old friend, now, is it?" He stated, forcing a mock frown upon his face as his eyes glistened with disappointment and sarcastic offence. He wondered how long he'd be able to play this game with her, until he had to put his men to some use. Perhaps if she stood out of line-which she seemed to do an awful lot- he'd send her punishment to Sherlock. Nah, too easy. He had to conjure something rather creative, he thought, with an internal grin of malevolence. His eyes moved momentarily from Adriana, and over to Sebastian stood behind her. Moran stood a little closer, taking the small hint from Moriarty's glance, and he easily blocked the exit from the alley way, if she so wished to escape. There were a few bins, though, he noticed, to their left and behind him. He supposed she'd be able to jump up onto the rooftops and make an attempted escape- though, with some struggle, he mused. Getting past the guards would be an amusing task and a half. "Please say sorry for talking to me in such a way." He demanded softly, though the brightness from his voice dropping rather suddenly, and his gaze turning stiff as it locked upon hers with warning

Not only was his voice like ice running down her back, his eyes were also somewhat ice like, and each place on her that they dragged over would immediately feel cold. She wondered if she should voice that he return to whatever flaming pit of despair he had crawled out of, though considering that he seemed to be glancing more and more towards Moran and his props, she was hesitant to voice her thoughts. God, why did he do that to her? Make her feel insecure and nervous and so... weak. She straightened up slightly, keeping their gaze locked. The tension between their eyes could probably vaporize something, and she wished that one of the guards would walk in front of her so that she could see if a hole ended up being burned through his chest. "You want an apology?" She scoffed and folded her arms over her chest, a protective gesture disguised as a rebellious one. "Funny, because considering the chain of events in our pasts, you probably owe me an apology." _You rat-infested sewage dweller. _She tensed slightly as his gaze raked over her again, and immediately began to look for a way of escape that didn't include parkour. There didn't appear to be very many (read: none) and she figured that she would have to manage to talk her way out of this, which meant being vaguely polite, which was her equivalent of hell. "But of course, _darling, _if you believe that I must give you an apology, then it would be immensely impolite of me not to oblige. I'm sorry, from the deepest, nether regions of my heart and soul. _Darling_." She said, switching to a more proper accent and pronouncing the 'darling' like 'dawling'. "And I repeat my earlier inquiring-" Here, she returned back to her normal way of speaking. "What do you want?"

_If only that apology wasn't utterly laced with sarcasm. Nobody ever seemed to be genuine, now-a-days_, he noted. "I'm sure you could take a wild guess." Within the time he gave her to assemble some sort of answer herself, Jim began to form a rather malicious plan. A hopefully violent one; something evident to leave Sherlock with. Like a bruise, or bump on his beloved. Something to think about for a little while. Though something much more interesting came to mind... something more entertaining. Surely, the simple way he could lead them would be to aid turning their love into animosity; something to weaken Sherlock just before he was able to destroy him. And for good this time, _God_. _Stay dead, detective? Please_? But from what he could gather, Sherlock was hardly intrigued by this girl. He found interest in hardly anybody. Why would Adriana be any different? If he couldn't mess with Sherlock's feelings, he supposed he might as well mess with Adriana's. Something to entertain him in the meantime, as he thought of something more cunning. Evil. If only he had known about the two of them three months ago. He would've been sure to conjure something awfully genius and nasty. "I want Sherlock."

Raising an eyebrow, Adriana had to play his words back in her head. "You want Sherlock?" She didn't quite know what that meant- or perhaps she did have some vague idea to it, but didn't really want to think about it- and she took a brief moment to come up with some sort of response she could offer. "What, like, with melted butter and lemon slices? Really, you know how to be ambiguous." She cleared her throat and glanced over her shoulder to the exit of the alleyway, contemplating the possibility of managing to jump over Sebastian and running out- impossible, though wouldn't it be awesome if it was possible? Though flying would be much more useful than jumping really high... _I really think you have ADHD at times, _the sterner part of her mind said- though the sensation of being utterly surrounded was really starting to get to her and she was just a bit anxious to leave. "Though if you mean, as in, you want him dead, no can do. I'm sort of laying off of killing people for a little while. Turns out, it's detrimental to a positive social life." She said, taking a half-step back. Though even that much movement caused her to nearly press up against Sebastian, who was casually smirking down at her. _Really, the product of millions of years of evolution is a bit of a far-fetched title for him, _she thought, though sagaciously kept to herself.

There was a short silence after Adriana's words-sarcastic, and mocking, _as bloody usual_, which needless to say infuriated him greatly- before Moriarty stood closer to her, until their bodies were merely centimeters apart. In a fashion of _threat _and _hate _and_ sheer impatience_, Jim kept his focus upon her right eye, looking her straight into that remorseless soul of hers. "'Sort of laying off the killing people thing'?" He repeated, head tilting slightly to the side. Some would perceive this as a comparison to a confused, lost, innocent pup. Though this was a psychopath stood before her, and the gesture looked nothing but manic and dangerous. "Adriana, please..." He whispered, smiling a little as he brought a hand up to her face, gently tucking a lose strand of her vibrant hair behind her ear, knowing there was virtually nothing she could do to prevent him from doing so. He was the alpha here. The powerful one. "You're only fooling yourself." By now, his voice became dark, eyes running leisurely over every detail upon her face before continuing. "I know what you really are... And if Sherlock finds out, he'll leave you instantly, Adriana. Because I know what Sherlock is, too." Regaining eye-contact, he slowly dropped his hand and returned it to his pocket, and he sighed a little, eyes wide, belonging to that of a maniac, an insane man. "I know what everybody is. You're not safe living by a 'Positive social life'. You're better off killing. It's the only thing you're good at." His voice was a continuous whisper, luring Adriana into a lower pit of gullibility and hoped sadness as his words seemed immortal, going on and on, not seeming to stop at any time soon. "_You _got your father killed. _You _did that. It was _your _fault, you know? But that's just who you are... You're better that way." There was another pause before Jim moved the slightest bit closer to the woman opposite him, their lips merely millimeters apart. "Don't you think Sherlock couldn't sense the bad in you? He sent you here unarmed for a reason. The sooner you're dead, the better. But that won't happen. I'll look after you. _Because if I don't kill you, he will_. That's how he thinks- I said, I know him, Adriana. I know what he is. He isn't a man you can trust."

This was a nightmare come true. Right down to the closeness of this psycho, and the words he was hissing in her ear, the guilt that filled her chest and stomach... well, the Sherlock bit was new. But he'd never kill her. He took her gun away because he said it'd be the death of her. It probably would have been- Moriarty wouldn't have liked her to have come armed, which she saw now. He loved her, and he was helping her, and this man was just a manipulative _rat_. "What, and you are a man I can trust?" She said, disbelieving. _You could escape. Knee Moriarty in the stomach, drive your elbow into Moran's ribs, then when he's bent over, drive it between his shoulder blades, and run. You've done this before, you can do it again. _She knew exactly how she could escape this- she could do it so easily, but her muscles weren't responding to her commands. She was telling them to move, kick him, do something, but she found that she was paralyzed in between the both of them. Was she sure that this wasn't a nightmare? Had she passed out on the way here and now she was living out her biggest fear? "I didn't think so." She spat, her body finally responding to her thoughts, hands curling into loose fists. When you swung, you weren't supposed to keep your fingers too tight, or it could injure your knuckles and reduce the strength of the punch. As much as she hated it, instinct was coming back to her- the instinct of how to kill, how to injure, everything that she was trying so hard to leave behind. God, she hated this man. Was he even a man? No, he was bloody Lucifer. "And don't you dare say that what you did to my father was my fault, you slimy son of a bitch!" Adrenaline had started to pump through her veins and she drove her knee hard into his stomach, right above his waist, ramming her elbow into the sensitive spot of Moran's chest, in the middle, right below his ribs. He bent over, as expected, and she hit him between the shoulder blades. Two down, and two probably about to attempt pursuit. She turned on her heel and ran, getting out into a more public area as soon as possible, pretending that she didn't still feel the lingering sensation of his fingers pushing a strand of her hair back, or his disgustingly soft breath on her lips.


End file.
